Fourteen Days in July
by Sam Worth
Summary: Together, the men of Stalag XIII have overcome difficult times. But after General Burkhalter had ordered to clear the camp, they were separated and relocated. Now they needed to use their own unique talent and fight to return in order to keep the operation working - or Colonel Hogan had to pay the price. Big Bang 2017. PBA Winner Gold Best Story Best Long General (tie). COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

_Story is complete in_ _15_ _parts. Postings will be_ _three times a week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday._

 _Written for Hogan's Heroes Big Bang 2017. Thanks to the mods for organizing_ _it_ _!_

 _Characters:_ _Robert Hogan, James Kinchloe, Louis LeBeau, Andrew Carter, Peter Newkirk, Richard Baker, Wilhelm Klink, Albert Burkhalter, Wolfgang Hochstetter,_ _OCs_

 _Special thanks to_ _ **2lieutenant**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

Newkirk sighed and rubbed his hands together to generate some warmth. Despite being July, the cooler fully deserved its name.

Colonel Hogan had promised to have him out after ten days - maximum. He deserved this after involuntarily volunteering to take the fall for the stolen papers.

As he waited for the heavy boot steps of the new guard in time for breakfast, Newkirk gazed back to the gray wall. He had marked neatly thirteen days.

In the silence of the night he had searched the room for a hidden entrance to the tunnel. However, they never had gotten around to connecting all the cells to the tunnel system and now he was stuck in here.

On day one after the deadline, he had been angry. Nobody visited to apologize or to offer an explanation. Not even LeBeau.

On the second day, he started to worry.

The worry had increased until he couldn't sleep anymore. If at least Schultz had come around to bring him food, he could have needled him until Schultz had explained everything. But Schultz also never came around again, and without him his main source of information.

Instead, there were always new guards. Some experienced, some young and skittish, but they were all new. He never had seen them before.

Finally, the familiar sound of heavy boots and jingling keys announced the return of his guard.

With a creak, the door opened.

"Did you get my order?" he called out. The stuff they served as food could only be called so because it came with a spoon and a plate.

The guard entered the cell. He only had keys in his hands.

The towering man in his German uniform stared at Newkirk as if he was a little cockroach he wished to squash under his boot.

Newkirk had to fight the urge to jump from his cot and rise to full height in response to the silent challenge. He tensed up but remained sitting on his cot, his knees pulled against his chest. He wouldn't lose this game of will.

"Get out." The guard pointed to the open door behind him.

It was unexpected but Newkirk wouldn't argue with an order like this. Maybe Colonel Hogan just had taken longer than normal to talk Klink into reducing his sentence.

He straightened and stood up. Following the guard, they navigated the three corners to the front door. For the first time, Newkirk couldn't think of a single useless thing to say.

This wasn't a guard to trade jokes with. Come to think of, he hadn't met a guard to joke with the last few days.

But as he saw the first rays of sunshine, he sped up and hurried outside.

Stepping into the blinding bright sun, he enjoyed the comfort of the warmth it provided.

Around him he took in the sound of many people in a small space mixed with a few raised voices. The smell of washing soap, wet clothes and sweat overlapped the scent of summer.

Everything seemed normal.

And yet nobody greeted him.

Disappointment and worry began to mix with anxiety. He tried to take a deep breath. It didn't have to mean anything.

Holding up his hand up to shield his eyes, he scanned the camp searching for a familiar face.

His eyes found the front door of barracks 2. But there was no LeBeau or Carter lingering around. He couldn't find the familiar brown cap of Colonel Hogan.

Behind him the heavy door fell shut propelling his feet toward the greater freedom of the camp. But the hope he had felt at first disappeared into a black abyss.

What started as a normal walk soon got faster until he was almost running.

He couldn't find his friends. He couldn't find the towering signal of strength of Kinch, or the babbling voice of Carter.

A lot of voices whirred through the air and stopped whenever he got near, but none of them were Carter.

None of the smaller men wore LeBeau's red scarf.

He couldn't even find Schultz. And Schultz wasn't a man easily missed.

Newkirk finished his circle around the camp and ended back in front to barracks 2.

With dread he hadn't felt since his first day as a POW, Newkirk entered the wooden building.

His eyes needed a moment to see in the darker indoor. But this didn't matter, he should have been greeted already.

A man he had never seen before slowly rose from his seat at the table. He had dark hair and a small face with a significant burn scar running down his neck until it disappeared in his shirt. The insignia of a major rested on his epaulettes.

The men around the table stopped their game and looked up, staring at him.

"Corporal, I'm glad that Colonel Heinrich finally let you go. I'm Major Norris, United States Army Air Forces. I am the highest ranking officer in this camp."

Newkirk shock his head. This was wrong. "No. The senior officer is Colonel Hogan." He forced the unexpected words out. "Where is he?"

Major Norris sighed. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan isn't here anymore."

"What?"

"The camp had been cleared on General Burkhalter's orders. Everybody is gone. We're all new here. You're the only one from before."

For a moment, Newkirk couldn't breathe. A kick in the kidney would have been more merciful.

* * *

 _Three days earlier._

Hogan nervously awaited Carter's arrival. The young sergeant had just returned from a joint mission with the Underground in broad daylight.

The moment he left the tunnel, Carter began changing his clothes.

"This is going to be the greatest Fourth of July ever," Carter said jubilantly. He put on his jacket and folded the German fire inspector uniform. It was a good way to be allowed to inspect one of their last major bridges.

"This will be the biggest, most -" The excitement threatened to explode within him.

"Carter," Colonel Hogan interrupted him. "If you talk a little louder, they will find your bombs and then there isn't going to be a holiday."

"Oh," Carter deflated. "But I have been working so hard."

LeBeau sighed. "And that's the reason why I have to go out again and set the detonator." He glanced to Olsen who had watch at the door.

"I'm sorry," Carter grumbled and handed the uniform to Kinch to stash it in the tunnel. "It was hard enough to attach them in the right places, without raising suspicions."

"You did good, Carter," Hogan said and grabbed himself a cup of cold coffee. "Now that we have set the explosive, it should be easy to destroy the Hindenburg Bridge any time." Depending on time and other missions, it would have to be either LeBeau or Olsen.

"But the Fourth of July is a good date for the morale in the camp," Kinch added and closed the entry to their tunnel behind him. "It's in two days."

"No arguing there," Hogan rubbed at his forehead. "I still haven't been able to talk Klink into springing Newkirk from the cooler."

LeBeau crossed his arms. "He is going to be insufferable."

"Well, we all need to make sacrifices," Hogan said and put his mug back on the table. "There is a -"

Out of the sudden, the door flew open.

German soldiers with machine guns stormed in.

Adrenaline shot through Hogan's body.

Everybody in the barracks froze as the German soldiers raised their guns and took aim at the prisoner there.

LeBeau tensed his fingers around his cup before he could drop it.

Hogan swallowed against his dry throat. So this was it. They had been made. Somebody had talked or had found their newest bombs.

He caught the panic glances from Carter and LeBeau. Then he found the serious face of his second-in-command. Kinch had known, like him, the whole time that this day would come.

Hogan cleared his throat. He would probably never learn what their mistake had been but he could ask. "What's going on here?"

Behind the soldiers, a German officer entered the Barracks. "Colonel Hogan, General Burkhalter wants to see you. Follow me."

His hands began to tremble in response to the adrenaline and Hogan had to hid them in his pockets.

Kinch caught his eyes and glanced to his left. At the threat of the Germans gun he had raised his hands. His fingers were now near the closing mechanism of their tunnel entrance. He just needed to hit against the wood and they could try to go underground.

If they had been made, this was his one and only chance to save some of his men. The ones who'd died in the unfair fire fight would at least be spared the advanced interrogation techniques of the Gestapo.

But, Hogan glanced again to the German officer, if this was just an inner German fight and they hadn't been made it would needlessly kill his men.

He needed more information. Trying to fight now, would result in an incomparable bloodshed.

"What does General Burkhalter want?"

"General Burkhalter's orders only concern your escort to his office!" The German officer, going by his uniform a major, repeated.

Hogan tilted his head. The other option was to take his chance and hope that General Burkhalter wanted something for himself and that this wasn't about Papa Bear.

He hesitated and then made a decision. Having always been a gambler, he gave Kinch an almost invisible shake of the head. This time he gambled with the life of his men.

"Okay, I'm just going to grab my -"

"You won't need your stuff," the German major said. "If necessary, we will get it for you."

A cold shiver run down Hogan's back. He took the time to look at everybody he could see before he followed the German officer out of the barracks.

The hot sun failed to warm his cold hands.

He had taken the gamble and now he could just hope that he hadn't signed the death sentence of his men.

* * *

 _TBC_


	2. Day One

_Special thanks to_ _ **2lieutenant**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY ONE**

* * *

The staff car carrying Hogan drove slowly along the Hammelburg road.

"I don't understand," Klink complained, "what could General Burkhalter possibly want that couldn't be discussed by phone or whenever he comes by. He surely comes often enough."

Hogan kept his gaze out the window.

With the surprising order, General Burkhalter had sent his staff car. Along with Colonel Hogan, Colonel Klink had also been ordered to come to his office right away.

The major, now identified by Klink as Major Haus, had remained behind in Stalag XIII, temporarily taking over as commandant.

"And why do I have to bring you with me!" Klink hit his thigh with his hand.

Suddenly he brought up a fist and shook it in front of Hogan's face. "What did you do?"

"Whether you believe it or not, Colonel," Hogan started, "this time I am as clueless as you."

Klink's anger deflated and he leaned back. "And everything was working so well. Stalag XIII is the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. No escapes and now ..."

Hogan only listened to Klink's whining with half an ear. He had picked up a far more worrisome sound than the babbling of the German officer.

"Did you order some bulldozers?" He asked in jest as the sound of the powerful engines became louder and louder.

"Bulldozer? I don't need bulldozers. They would destroy my beautiful camp and the fence!"

The staff car drove around a curve and braked sharply.

Colonel Hogan shivered in the heat as he realized why they had to stop.

Klink also started to look around and his focus turned to other things beside himself. Almost.

"What are all these trucks are doing here? And the tanks," his voiced vibrated from fear. "Where are they going? This isn't the way to the front!"

Hogan's stomach churned. He had taken a gamble. And now it looked like he had lost.

Nothing had indicated this. There hadn't even been one of London's famous 'Be careful but we don't know why'-warnings.

"They are driving to my camp." Klink whispered, his voice as lifeless as his pale face.

Hogan just watched the column of trucks jutting alone the Hammelburg road. At the end of the road was nothing.

Nothing besides Stalag XIII.

* * *

Kinch jumped from the back of the truck.

His boots landed in the morass making a splashing sound.

"We're here already?" Olsen jumped down behind him.

Kinch nodded. It was unexpected but helpful. They couldn't have traveled more than a few miles. Stalag XIII was still near enough to have realistic chance to return in time.

He let his gaze wander across the camp. He counted ten barracks, arranged around a central place where the prisoners stood in a roll call.

The huts for the Germans and the commandant were outside of the barbed wire.

"Did we lose anybody on the way?" Kinch whispered his question to Olsen who stood besides him.

"No, we're still complete." Including Kinch, fifteen men from Stalag XIII had been transported to this outpost of Stalag XII.

Kinch sighed in relief. This was a starting point. Together with Sergeant Olsen, he had enough men to work something out.

Calculating the distance to and the layout of the surrounding fields, Kinch estimated a low grade of difficulty for an escape.

They waited for their new commandant. The German guards were too near for Kinch to converse privately with Olsen. Since morning, they hadn't been alone to talk about anything else but harmless reassurances.

A man with a cane climbed down slowly the few stairs from his office. Behind him, the sergeant of the guard followed.

Kinch tensed as he eyed the men. The sergeant was a short man with dark hair and a perfectly pressed uniform. The way he walked and how he raised his head and straightened in front of the prisoners, Kinch knew that this man tried to outplay his lack of height with brutality and strength.

"I am Colonel Friedrich Kaiser, the commandant of this camp." The officer appeared older than his uniform and rank suggested. His fingers encircled the handle of his cane until his fingertips turned white. It spoke volumes about the pain he felt from a wound that wasn't as visible as the eye patch in his face.

Kinch didn't need to ask London to see the consequences of a grenade that had barely missed the man.

"If you don't give me trouble, I won't give you trouble. For the day to day business you can ask Sergeant Koehler or your comrades."

With that short speech he turned and hobbled back to the cooler shadows out of the sun.

Kinch shared a short look with Olsen. The commandant was finished with the war and his part in it. His weariness eliminated one threat for Kinch's plan to return as fast as possible.

Sergeant Koehler on the other hand was a different story. He glanced down on his watch and then across the compound.

"What is he waiting for?" Private Keller whispered.

Something was off. Kinch had a good idea how a POW camp should be run and it wasn't how Colonel Hogan let Colonel Klink run it.

Most of the guards were around the camp. Only a few very bored looking young men stood around their new prisoners. The other guards were focused on the inside of the camp. Of course, they knew that this wasn't their first rodeo but still, something was off.

"I guess we are not interesting enough," Olsen said and relaxed a bit. None of their guards reacted.

Two German guards walked out of the commandant's office and into the camp.

"Sergeant Koehler is on duty again," a German voice said from somewhere behind Kinch. "This is going to be fun."

Kinch shared a look with Olsen who also had understood them. It was a given to hide their ability to understand and speak German, but Kinch didn't like what he had heard.

He narrowed his eyes. There was a clear line of separation between two groups of prisoners visible. The uniforms identified one of the groups as south-east Europe, Kinch wasn't sure, and the other were Americans.

"The Serbian and our guys are clearly not talking to each other," Olsen commented as he focused on the same. Apparently, he had recognized the uniforms.

"And the Germans use this," Kinch said as they watched as a German corporal questioned one member of the Serbian, then went to an American barrack and returned with a confiscated item.

"Maybe we should stay clear of the Serbians," Private Keller standing behind him proposed. "It doesn't look like they play fair."

Kinch shook his head. He knew a thing or two about assumption and social norms about whom to trust. He wasn't willing to think what he was supposed to think.

"I don't think we need to watch the Serbians. We need to watch the Germans and especially this Sergeant Koehler. He knows how to read and play people. He is the real danger."

Olsen nodded. "It looks like our guys also gave the Germans something on the Serbians."

The men inside the wire were dismissed.

"They started it," Keller pointed out.

The wind blew over a few of the angry words that were exchanged inside the fence.

"For the sake of this war, our guys should have stopped it. If the Serbians manage to escape, the Germans have to hunt them. It doesn't matter who they have to run after, as long as they have to run after somebody." Kinch fought the urge to cross his arms in a display of anger.

Suddenly, fists and shoving replaced words and the two groups started to fight in earnest. Sergeant Koehler left his post and marched into the camp without any hurry.

"He knew it would happen, he almost expected it," Olsen stated.

"I know," Kinch agreed as he remembered the glance at his watch. "He arranged it."

Everybody was busy watching the camp and had their attention on the fight. Kinch took the chance and leaned forward to Olsen using the time for a short secret conversation.

"Did anybody get down in time?"

Shaking his hand, Olsen reported: "No, we were blindsided completely. We were just preparing for the morning roll call as suddenly everywhere guards appeared. We didn't want to risk giving the tunnel away for free."

Private Keller snorted. "We thought, in a few hours they would be gone again. Not that we would be gone."

Koehler separated the two groups while using his club as much as possible. He was clearly enjoying this.

"Do you really think that General Burkhalter is going to turn over Colonel Hogan to the Gestapo if there's not enough evidence of Papa Bear's operation in the given time frame?"

After the first few trucks, one of them with LeBeau on it, had disappeared and Carter had been whisked away in a staff car with Langenscheidt, Kinch had done nothing else but think about it. "Yes, before it hurts his career he is going to hand him over."

"Then we need to get back as fast as possible."

Kinch nodded again. "We either need to keep Papa Bear alive or free Colonel Hogan and return to London."

"As long as they failed finding the tunnel we have a chance if we can get away from here."

"They didn't even search for anything like this," Kinch said. "Burkhalter wants to get Hochstetter of his back so he can return to the good life of a general. That doesn't mean he believes him."

Koehler had successfully dispersed the two groups. The Serbians and Americans returned to their side of the camp, licking their wounds.

By what Kinch had been seeing in just the few minutes they had stood in line and watched the daily operation of the camp, he knew that his biggest enemy in this camp wasn't even this Sergeant Koehler or the barbed wire.

The mistrust between the prisoners was far more dangerous.

If he wanted to escape and return to London or Stalag XIII, Kinch had to overcome this obstacle first.

* * *

Hogan watched the landscape outside of the car. How often had he ran through the woods around here? He contemplated to jump out and run. But as long as he wasn't dead he had a responsibility to his man.

He would see this through.

After the column of trucks had passed them, their driver had started up again. Both Colonels' were quiet. One feared for his command and the other for his men.

No further words were spoken until they arrived at Burkhalter's office.

In his office, Burkhalter kept them waiting for a long time. He wasn't around and whenever Colonel Klink had collected enough braveness to ask, he was rejected.

"I don't understand this. I thought General Burkhalter and I, that we worked together. I almost married his sister. I-"

The opening of the door interrupted Klink.

"Shut up, Klink." Burkhalter stood in the door frame.

Klink jumped to attention. "Good morning, Herr General."

Hogan rose slowly and faced General Burkhalter. He tried to look behind him to spot his execution team, but the bulky statue of General Burkhalter ensured that he couldn't see anything.

"General Burkhalter," Hogan greeted, his fingers digging into his cap.

Burkhalter sighed. Then strolled behind his desk and sat down.

"General Burkhalter-," Klink started but the general hushed him.

"Colonel Hogan, what a pleasure that you could make this meeting."

Giving the General the false smile this statement deserved, Hogan sat back down. "Didn't want to miss the party. What party is this actually?"

The door was jerked open and Klink jumped again. Major Hochstetter marched into the room.

Hogan raised his eyebrow. The SS-Major had already a red face before they started. "Is this the guest of honor? Or the clown for entertainment?"

"Major Hochstetter," Klink greeted and paled at the Major's expression. "What a pleasure."

"General Burkhalter, I must protest."

"Please do, Hochstetter," Burkhalter said and leaned back in his enormous chair, "but do it somewhere else. I am busy."

Hogan looked from the general to the SS-major. "Oh I see, our little party interrupted your important conversation."

"What is this man doing here?"

Klink raised his finger while shuffling back. "We are both here on orders from the general."

Hochstetter balled a fist. "This will have consequences!" His threat addressed the whole room. "Heads will be rolling!"

Burkhalter put his hands on his desk and heaved himself up. "The next head that will roll is yours if you don't leave right now."

Hochstetter narrowed his eyes. Playing a chameleon, Klink tried to blend into the background.

But Hogan leaned back and crossed his legs. He knew who would be winning this argument but he was more confused as ever about the reason for this adventure.

"Bah!" Hochstetter pirouetted around and marched from the room.

With a loud bang the door swung close.

"Well," Hogan drawled, "I guess we now met the black sheep of the family."

"Hogan!" Klink jumped away from the book shelve but didn't know what else to say.

Burkhalter sat back down again. "He is more a nuisance to the war than a black sheep."

"Oh, he is part of the war?" Hogan quipped.

The general gave him a dangerous smile. "You should be careful, Colonel Hogan. If it wouldn't be for the rift between Luftwaffe and the SS, you wouldn't be here."

Hogan heard the warning undertone clearly but not Colonel Klink.

"About this, Herr General, I have a POW camp to run and can't stay away for too long-"

"Silence!"

Klink jerked and nodded. "Silence."

Burkhalter waited a moment until he was sure that he had the undivided attention of his guests.

"Major Hochstetter is sure that somebody known as Papa Bear is running a major sabotage mission around Hammelburg." He paused. "And he believes this mysterious Papa Bear is Colonel Hogan."

Klink jumped up again. "This is nonsense!" He became agitated. "Colonel Hogan is a prisoner in Stalag XIII, the toughest POW camp. Nobody has ever escaped from my camp."

"Shut up, Klink!"

Nodding, Klink sank down again. "Shutting up."

"I don't like it, but I have to agree with Colonel Klink. I am a prisoner. I don't have time to sabotage anything. I have to make plans to escape and I have to dig tunnels."

"Tunnels? Nobody is allowed to dig tunnels in my-"

"Silence!"

Burkhalter considered his next words carefully. "I have to concede, that there is high number of incidents around Stalag XIII. Major Hochstetter wanted to arrest you for sabotage as he claimed to have a witness identifying you."

The smile on Hogan's face froze. There could be enough possible witnesses. His eyes darted to the door Hochstetter had disappeared.

"However, I have vetoed this idea." General Burkhalter grabbed a cigarette and lit it up. "I like to survive the war and not losing a prisoner of the Luftwaffe to the SS. They tend to return bodies and not men."

Klink looked hurt. "If you didn't want to have Major Hochstetter to talk to Colonel Hogan, all you had to do is call. I would have followed your orders to the letter."

Burkhalter just started at Klink until he got it and nodded. "Shutting up."

The general raised his head and regarded Hogan. "This witness complicated things, but I am done with Hochstetter's nonsense. So I put together a simple plan that is going to prove whether Papa Bear has his headquarters at Stalag XIII or not."

Hogans straightened. "And how, if this question is allowed?"

"I have ordered that the whole camp is to be cleared. Nobody remains there. We get new prisoners and new guards."

"And?" Relieved Hogan, forget his worry about his mission for a moment. No executions. His gamble had paid off for the time being.

"Then we wait. Fourteen days. If the sabotage continues around Hammelburg then we know that Hochstetter is too incompetent to look for the right people. But if there's nothing, then Hochstetter will get his chance to have a chat with you."

Hogan swallowed hard. It was a chat he didn't look forward knowing how it would end. There were no court proceedings in Germany anymore.

"But General Burkhalter, I must return. How-"

Burkhalter looked at Klink out of the corner of his eyes. "New guards and a new commandant, didn't I say this?"

Klink shook his head silently, looking like a lost pupil in front of his principal.

"Oh, I must have forgotten. I am sure that we will find a new post for your competence. Until then, you can keep Colonel Hogan company."

"Company?" Hogan had a lot of work to do. Klink wasn't welcome to help, this time.

"Of course, Colonel Hogan. You are going to stay here." Burkhalter smiled. "My guards are competent. I won't let Hochstetter sour my victory with baseless accusations."

"I'd rather wait in Stalag XIII, if it's the same to you, sir."

"It's not up for debate," Burkhalter stood up, "or do you rather want to talk to Hochstetter now?"

Hogan shot Burkhalter a quick smile. "Fourteen days, you say?" He also stood up knowing when to retreat. "I guess I can stifle my curiosity for that long."

* * *

 _TBC_

 _Next chapter we are going to visit Carter and LeBeau and find out how they are doing._


	3. Day Two

_Special thanks to_ _ **2lieutenant**_ _and_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY TWO  
**

* * *

LeBeau awoke at dawn.

The mattress in barracks 2 might be old and dirty but it surpassed the hard and cold ground.

He rolled on his back and had to bite back a groan as he moved the muscles in his shoulders and back he had used to carry wood.

In the dim light, he could see the men lying around him, huddled together for warmth and shelter from the makeshift roof.

In a few minutes, they would have to get up. If sleeping on the ground and the damp dirt that had crept into his clothes wasn't so bad, he would make a joke about the unfairness of having to build his own POW camp.

LeBeau rolled to his left, yearning for a little more sleep.

Next to him, Lieutenant Patrick Leonard was also already awake.

"How is he?" LeBeau asked, pointing with his chin to Lieutenant Matthew Lincoln, who slept between the two men.

On the next breath Lincoln started to cough deeply, providing the answer himself.

Even in his sleep and the dim morning light, he looked pale and sick. LeBeau stretched his arm out. He could feel the heat radiating off him before he touched Lincoln's forehead.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Leonard whispered.

LeBeau pressed his lips together. Nobody who got sick with pneumonia in the summer would survive even the autumn and surely not the winter.

He shook his head and then rolled back on his back. The man next to him was sick and he couldn't do anything about it. Back in Stalag XIII, he would have been able to do more. If he had at least been able to grab his herb extracts or spices, he could have tried a tea or soup to sooth the cough.

As if he had heard him, the lieutenant coughed again.

He glanced up to their tentative roof, trying to remember what orders he had in case of an unexpected departure. Normally it was either planned or Colonel Hogan was around to talk Klink into or out of a plan. But this time it had happened while Colonel Hogan had been gone. LeBeau wasn't even sure if he would return.

Minutes after the staff car with Colonel Hogan had left the camp, the column of trucks had arrived.

Schultz had run around and randomly ordered men on the trucks. LeBeau had been on one of the firsts. He had tried to stay behind with Kinch and Carter but he only had been met with the barrel of a German machine gun.

Kinch had shook his head and LeBeau had complied.

Closing his eyes, he had to assume that Stalag XIII was deserted but if they hadn't found the tunnel then he could return, grab everything necessary and return to France. Through the Resistance, he could organize help for Colonel Hogan and whoever needed it. Alone, he wouldn't be able to find even one of his friends.

Lieutenant Lincoln coughed again. He gasped for breath, unable to take in enough oxygen.

LeBeau turned back, Leonard scrambled up and raised his friend until he was sitting.

But the fit didn't stop. More and more prisoners awoke from the noise.

LeBeau hovered near without anything useful to do while guards arrived, alerted by the ruckus. A soldier, a young man himself, used his flashlight to illuminate the scene.

By now all the prisoners were awake and watched with fearful eyes as Lieutenant Lincoln continued to cough, unable to draw a breath. His lips were turning blue in the bright beam from the flashlight.

Then finally, with his fist pressed against his chest, he managed to bring the cough under control, leaving an eerie silence behind.

Everything was quiet. Even the birds had taken a break from their morning concerto. The wheezing sound of Lincoln's breathing was the only thing interrupting the silence.

The new camp was still in the early stages and only a few barracks had been constructed. Of course, all those were used by the Germans.

"Sorry," Lieutenant Lincoln croaked and started to cough again.

His friend slapped softly his head. "Shut up," he murmured kindly.

"We start to work early," the guard said in broken English, "then we get earlier the barracks for your friend."

Leonard snarled and LeBeau looked away. Better housing would help the other prisoners but not Lincoln.

The guards went away again. It wasn't only the prisoners who got sick; several of the guards were also coughing and hoping to get sent home.

LeBeau gazed through the barbed wire.

"It has to be out there," he murmured.

The new camp was built in the forest. The last big autumn storm had left this clearing. It would be easy to escape if he just found a way to cross the wire and a good time to run to the forest line.

He had reconnoitered the layout already. But this time LeBeau didn't check for an escape route but tried to find the plant he had seen in daylight.

"What are you looking for?"

"There's _surreau_ out there."

"What?"

Shaking his head LeBeau cursed that there was no Kinch to translate for him. "It's a plant. Its blossom can be used to make a tea." He looked to Lincoln and Leonard. "A tea for coughing. If I could get it, it could help. I've seen it outside."

"You mean elderflowers?" Leonard asked. "I remember reading something about it in book," he trailed off.

LeBeau lay back down. He regretted his lost herbs. In all the years in Stalag XIII he had never had to feel this helpless.

* * *

Carter smiled at an old woman shuffling to the ticket window but he only received an angry glare in return. He looked down. The cobblestone were old but surprisingly clean as if they were swept everyday.

"Where are we going?" Carter asked and looked back to Corporal Langenscheidt. He was waiting with the German guard at the next big train station. After a lengthy drive, they had missed the right train yesterday by mere minutes and had to wait for the next morning.

"I have my orders to bring you to the train station at Burghof," Langenscheidt answered. "I don't know more than I did yesterday, so please stop asking."

Carter shrugged. He liked the young guard. It was safer to stay with him then try his luck alone with his American uniform and the German civilians. The looks they shot his way were almost as deadly as bullets.

Finally, the awaited train screeched its arrival and they boarded.

Carter hadn't traveled so much by train his whole life as since he had joined the Army. It was especially bad in Germany. Everything was done by train.

He enjoyed the relaxing motion and the even sound. Resting his head against the window, he watched the scenery go by and wondered what this Burghof place could be.

Suddenly, he recognized the surrounding. Fear gripped his heart.

"Are we going to drive across the Hindenburg Bridge?"

Langenscheidt looked up. "Yes. This is the last bridge we can take. All the other bridges have been destroyed by your bombers."

Carter's heart started to beat wildly. He had rigged himself the bridge. It was going to blow.

He glanced at his watch. It was going to blow today: on the Fourth of July.

"What's going on?" Langenscheidt asked sensing Carter's distress.

But Carter didn't know what to say. He had always wanted to watch the explosion but not so personal and in the front row. This wasn't the way he wanted to die.

Then he remembered that the timer hadn't been set yet; maybe nobody had time to go out to connect the detonator.

"Nothing, I just wondered if it's going to explode."

Taking a deep breath, Carter tried to calm down. He was safe. It shouldn't explode.

"One day, this bridge is going to be destroyed. They have tried it often enough. It's an important bridge and makes a good target. We can just hope it's not today." Langenscheidt trailed off.

Only the sound of the train provided a filler for the uncomfortable silence.

After they had cleared the bridge, Carter relaxed again.

He returned to watching the scenery going by. Green trees, destroyed cities, green fields, smoking streets where the last bomb raid had hit houses, a dark tunnel and after the tunnel even more ruins from failed attempts to hit the tunnel.

As the evening turned into night, Corporal Langenscheidt stood up and closed the blinding of the windows. "Lights out," he explained.

Carter didn't answer. There wasn't anything to say really. He knew what light discipline meant and the reason for it.

The even motion made Carter sleepy.

Suddenly a loud siren started up and the train braked hard.

"Out, out! Everybody out!" The train controller ran through the cars.

Langenscheidt grabbed the hesitating Carter and jumped out of the wagon and threw himself down on the ground. The hand on his arm pulled Carter down with him.

Then he heard it.

They were coming.

It was the sound of his bombers.

The train had stopped on an empty field. Beside Carter, a young woman pressed her baby against her chest and murmured something.

Carter only understood 'ave maria' but this was enough to realize that she was praying.

He heard the rattling sound of the nearest anti air craft guns and the dark sky was lightened by the staccato of an enormous symphony of man-made strength.

As he watched the night sky, he realized that he had gotten his wish and gotten a brilliant fireworks for the Fourth of July. He just wished it wouldn't be served with so much fear.

Then the bombers turned and left. Maybe they were low on fuel or they had another target, but they never targeted or saw the train.

After a few minutes silence in the once again dark night, there was rustling as everybody stood up and cleaned their clothes. As the train conductor blew his whistle, the men and women entered the train again.

Slowly the machine started to pull the long and heavy train forward.

"This is a military train, right?"

Langenscheidt nodded.

"Then why are so many women on it?"

His guard snorted. "There aren't any other trains. Either you get a seat or you have to walk. Besides now, almost everybody works for the war."

Carter shuddered. What kind of place had the world become? He had to fight the urge to draw his knees up and close his eyes.

But he needed to keep up where they were going. If he could return to the bridge, he could set the bombs. It was his last job for Papa Bear and very important.

He just wished it wouldn't destroy the fastest route for the civilians.

* * *

Hogan turned away from the window. It didn't give him a better view than the last time. A courtyard full of German soldiers didn't help his mood.

In his hand, he held a small capsule potassium cyanide. It was a present from an unlikely underground agent.

"Are you sure that you can't do anything else?" he asked his companion. He had been surprised that one of the most important and reliable informant and member of the Underground was nobody else but one of General Burkhalter's adjutants. The very same man that had interrupted his breakfast so rudely.

"Colonel Hogan, just me talking to you is almost too dangerous." Major Rudolf Haus shook his head. Lean with balding hair, Haus could play Klink's competent twin.

"You're one of Burkhalter's adjutants. It shouldn't raise any suspicions."

Major Haus jumped up and circled around his chair. "Major Hochstetter is prowling the streets and arresting everybody that isn't German enough for him. This uniform and his unwillingness to go against General Burkhalter saved me and my family too often already." His fingers dug into the plain wood of the chair. "It's not going to work much longer."

Hogan sighed. "What does Hochstetter have on the Underground?"

"Not much, surprisingly," Major Haus shrugged, the medals on his uniform shifting with the motion. "He is searching for radios and secret messages. And of course, everything that stands between his glorious Third Reich and common sense."

"So, we don't have to assume a mole?"

"I always assume a mole, but this whole operation is more part of Hochstetter's obsession to nick Papa Bear than any planned attempt to destroy the Underground."

Hogan crossed the room to the desk General Burkhalter had sponsored. The desk stood on filigree legs made out of mahogany wood.

"Whose house is this?"

"Excuse me?"

Hogan laughed while his finger moved over the smooth surface. "General Burkhalter has an exquisite taste. But I doubt that the Luftwaffe had built a villa like this for him."

Major Haus narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. I guess he confiscated it from somebody."

"Somebody," Hogan repeated and looked away. He wasn't about to dismiss the possibility of no heirs or criminal activities but somehow he couldn't image such an honorable reason for the new house of General Burkhalter.

With a shake of his head, Major Haus snorted as he caught the subtle accusation. "If everybody would make out of everything a matter of principles, you wouldn't find anybody in the whole of Germany to help you."

He missed the solitude of his quarters in barracks 2. This would be now the perfect time for a little quiet. General Burkhalter had ruined his perfect plans and now he had to scramble to recover.

"Do you know who this villa was confiscated from?"

Irritated, Major Haus stared at him. "Does it matter?"

"A lot of lives depend on your willingness and cleverness to help," Hogan challenged the man. He didn't have time to carefully detect how this major worked. He needed to know it now to plan accordingly. "It's only fair wanting to know what kind of man you are."

"You don't need to know such a thing. I am in position to help you and I've already helped a lot of other people – by forgetting to sign a paper, changing times and places. Or bringing another means of escape." He indicated to the capsule hidden beneath Hogan's watch. "Take it or leave it."

Hogan shoved away his dark thoughts. He had taken the gamble and now he needed to work with the cards he had been dealt. This major wasn't so bad, maybe no king but he could work with him. He nodded. "That's what I thought."

"What?"

"You understand the game. If you can help me safely, you will. If not, you will let me down without a second glance."

Major Haus gave a short nod. His smile was icy. "I am not going to risk the Underground and everything else just for you, Papa Bear."

"This is good." Then he only had to think about his own men and his own operation. The Underground would be safe.

The major walked to the window. They both had enough experience to know that their conversation may be their last or be the material to write about in your memoirs.

"There isn't anything we can do. Everything that we could do would just shorten the time span your men have to work with," Haus finally said while staring down on the courtyard.

"My men?" Hogan took the few steps back to the window. Out of the corner of his eyes he regarded the German officer.

"If any of them can escape and return to your tunnel system then he could continue as Papa Bear."

Hogan turned back to the window and stared at the reflection of Major Haus. "Papa Bear is a team mission. We could have never achieved as much as we did if we hadn't worked as a team."

"I know but this time they have to achieve this without you. Hochstetter and Burkhalter are watching this house day and night. You could fool maybe one but both of them, won't work. You won't be able to leave this compound undetected."

"What about the Underground?"

"If there's an opportunity to help without doing more harm, I can assure you we will take it, but until then we need to wait." Major Haus rubbed at his forehead, making visible a thin red line of a scar.

"Why are you so worried? It's not your neck on the line."

"If we lose Papa Bear we lose our best cover. Hochstetter and his Gestapo blames everything on Papa Bear, even the fliers from our students." He dropped his arms and looked at Hogan out of the corner of his eye. "And we can't forget how much you actually know. About everything."

Hogan laughed out loud. "I don't plan to stick around for that conversation with Hochstetter. I'm going to take my secrets with me back to London or my grave." He fingered the watch on his wrist. Thanks to this Major Haus, he now had the means to follow through with his claim.

"Do you have a plan?"

Hogan crossed his arms. "After you've destroyed my first hope that the Underground could keep Papa Bear alive, I have to go back to planning. But I have my greatest ally with me, so…"

Major Haus gave Hogan a disbelieving stare. He almost looked like Klink. It had to be a German specialty. "You can't mean Klink."

Hogan's answer was a widening smile. "Who else is even more interested in saving Papa Bear and himself from a marriage or the Russian front?"

Haus laughed and then had to cover it with a cough. "Then I'll better go. I'll report General Burkhalter that you continued your denial of having knowledge or being Papa Bear."

With a mock salute Hogan signaled his agreement.

Then he turned away and opened the window for some fresh air. In the courtyard, the Germans were unloading a truck. Judging by the sound of it, the boxes were full of bottles of wine.

Hogan thought about his men. He couldn't fathom better men suited for this job. But who would be clear-headed and daring enough to make a successful escape and come back to Stalag XIII to continue the mission.

Assuming they knew that this was needed. They all had their orders to return to London if the mission was discovered.

He was proud of everything they had accomplished to halt the German war efforts.

Hogan balled his fists as he watched the soldiers in the courtyard.

Sometimes luck ran out like when he was shot down over Germany. But not as he had been outsmarted by that German Colonel.

Hogan narrowed his eyes. He wouldn't be outsmarted again. If his luck ran out – fine. But until then he would fight to end this war.

* * *

 _TBC_


	4. Day Three

_Special thanks to_ _ **2lieutenant**_ _and_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you_ _ **Guest**_ _for your review. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story and thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY THREE**

* * *

"You're joking, right?" Newkirk glanced from one man to the next, trying to spot the one face holding back a smile.

Major Norris clapped Newkirk on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it is true. Apparently the sergeant of the guards had forgotten that you had been in the cooler."

Newkirk snorted. "Schultzie forgot me?" Usually he liked the sergeant's ability to forget everything but this time it hurt.

"The moment I heard about you, I talked to the commandant to get you out. He couldn't find a reason for the sentence and so he had to release you."

Nodding numbly, Newkirk leaned back against the corner of the bed. It was his bunk. The one he had shared it with Carter, always talking, Carter. He wished to hear his voice again, to wake him out of this nightmare.

It had to be a nightmare.

He jerked back to the reality. "Where is my stuff? My coat, letters and smokes?" He sent an accusatory glare around the room. It should have been waiting for him here.

"We don't know where your stuff is, but I'll write to the Red Cross to try to get you warm clothes as fast as possible and I am going to talk to Colonel Heinrich for some stuff in the meantime."

Finally, Newkirk's glance fell to Kinch's bunk and the hidden entrance beneath it. It looked undisturbed as if it would just wait for somebody to enter. He couldn't see dirt or striations around it. An emergency destruction should have left some traces.

Realizing that his odd glance was visible, Newkirk straightened again. "What happened? Why had been the camp cleared?"

Major Norris shrugged and returned to the head of the table. "Nobody knows."

"Not even Klink?" Newkirk asked.

At the uncomprehending glares he received he added: "Colonel Wilhelm Klink. The commandant of this fine camp."

Norris scratched his scar. "As I meant everybody was replaced it included the commandant. The new commandant is Colonel Heinrich."

Newkirk kept silent. Without Klink, the operation in Stalag XIII was history, they would never get a German officer again as keen on helping them as Colonel Klink.

"As to what happened and its reason ..."Major Norris rubbed at his forehead. "I don't know."

"There are only rumors," another voice spoke up. It was a young lieutenant with wild blond hair that somehow escaped regular haircut. "They say it's about someone or something called Papa Bear."

With great difficulty Newkirk managed to keep the shock to himself.

"I know it's a lot to take in, so we don't have to continue this now. In barracks 4 -"

"I've always stayed in barracks 2," Newkirk interrupted harshly, "this is-"

"You will have a bunk in barracks 4 and nowhere else," Major Norris talked right through his protests. His friendly voice replaced by the sharp tones of a man used to commanding a bomber crew.

Newkirk was tempted to argue further but then he remembered that he had more important problems. He nodded and stalked from the room and its memory.

Running was out of question if he didn't want to raise suspicion with the new guards, so the corner of barracks 4 took the brunt of his anger. Why did this new Major had to choose the only barracks without an entry to the tunnel system?

"Hey, what did our barracks ever do to you?"

Newkirk kicked one last time against the wood, enjoying the splintering sound of damage he had done, before he looked up to the new voice.

An African-American US airman stood in front of him. "Nobody wants to be here, but this isn't a reason to bring down this house," the guy continued his talk. "I'm Sergeant Baker, by the way. And you are?"

Newkirk glanced up to the blue sky. Hadn't he done this all already? Survived the first weeks, formed friendships, even with a Frenchman? Why had he to do this all again?

"Oh, you're the guy from the cooler," Baker said and held out his hand. "I heard about you. Sorry man, this is terrible."

Newkirk took the offered hand. "Newkirk."

"Nice to meet you, even if I had preferred a meeting in a London pub. I heard this is where there's still life."

"Haven't been there for a long time." Newkirk glanced to the wire and beyond. "I probably need to escape to London to check if you're right."

Baker laughed out loud. "Yeah sure, come in. I show you where you can sleep. Have you eaten anything today?"

Newkirk forced his feet to follow his new companion into the barracks. Sergeant Baker may have thought he was joking, but Newkirk was dead serious. If Papa Bear was compromised or lost, the standing orders were to destroy everything and return to England.

That was one order he wasn't dodging, but first he needed to find a way to get into their tunnel and find out what happened to his friends.

* * *

Kinch crossed his arms and pressed his lips together as he watched the latest antics of Sergeant Koehler. The Germans really had their fun trying to start a fight between the Serbians and the Americans. They didn't want anything big but it was their entertainment trying to start it.

As he watched Private Bird's face darken, he knew that Sergeant Koehler had reached his goal.

"It's worse than I thought." Olsen joined him by his watch spot and leaned against the wood of the barracks. "The Germans don't even need to lie. The truth alone is enough to turn them against each other."

Without an officer in the camp and a lot of young men and men of the same rank, the camp missed a clear command structure for Kinch to talk to. If he wanted to escape, he had to start from the beginning.

"We need to do something, if we ever want to escape from here." Olsen pointed to the nearby fields where the corn had already reached hiding growth. "If we could reach the field, we could disappear."

Kinch snorted. "This part would be easy." He narrowed his eyes. "But we would need support from all the prisoners to reach it."

Olsen took a deep breath. "And that isn't going to happen. Everybody I have spoken to had a nice little story to tell. The Serbians did this, the Serbians did that. I don't think we can work with them."

Kinch glared at Olsen until he shifted uncomfortable under his glare. "Did you talk to one Serbian already? Without talking to them we can't really ask for help or offer help."

Olsen looked down. The ground had finally dried. "I guess they are just going to tell the same story, the Americans did this and the Americans did that. It's not going to be anything else."

"I guess not. Do we know how this started?" Kinch looked across the invisible line of separation. The language barrier just topped the wall build out of prejudices and assumptions.

"No. Not really. But if you just sit quietly around, the German guards are sure a chatty squad. They have been more helpful than our guys."

"What have they been talking about?"

"This Sergeant Koehler is running the camp. The commandant is tired of fighting and tired of running this camp. As long as nobody dies, he lets Sergeant Koehler have his fun."

It was exactly what Kinch had expected. "And what does Sergeant Koehler consider fun?"

"He once hid a knife in the American Barracks, picked one of the American prisoners and threw him into the cooler. Then he told our guys that the Serbians had ratted him out."

"And nobody corrected him. Not even the man in the cooler after he got out?"

Olsen smiled without humor. "He couldn't tell the truth because he was transferred – for the knife."

Kinch turned completely around. "He was transferred? Just like this?"

Shrugging, Olsen nodded. "Koehler went to the commandant and he signed it."

"And our guys believed him," Kinch stated. The bad feeling in his stomach wasn't from the horrible food.

"If you listen to them, they think the Serbians are almost worse than the Germans. It's like the worst kind of rumors and prejudices thrown together and mixed."

"I guess he repeated the maneuver with the Serbians."

"That's what the German guards are saying."

Kinch pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we can use Koehler's preference to play games we maybe can get out."

"But not if we get played!" Olsen pointed to Private Bird and Sergeant Stone having a private conversation. The look on their faces didn't forebode anything good.

Kinch nodded. "I guess it's time for Koehler to play again. His players are already selected. Let's be a joker." He hurried over to the impending confrontation as two Serbians neared.

"You stole our Red Cross packages!" Sergeant Stone accused the nearest Serbian. "But you won't get away with it."

The Serbian answered with something Kinch didn't understand but the face and voice was clear enough.

"Sergeant Stone, a word." Kinch ordered. With so many enlisted men and ranks, they didn't really had a structure of command. Kinch knew who was responsible for this – Koehler. He couldn't compete with a clear command so he needed to sow mistrust.

Stone hesitated, scowling at the Serbians who went away before he addressed Kinch. "The Serbians did it again. They stole our Red Cross packages," Stone repeated hotly his accusation. "And they will pay for it." Under his breath, he added, "I know where they hide their tunnel."

For a fleeting moment, Kinch hoped for a fast escape until the hard truth sank in and he correctly construed the fury on Stone's face.

Kinch growled. "You won't," he said through clenched teeth. "If they didn't kill anybody, you won't rat them out to the Germans."

Stone leaned forward and grabbed Kinch's jacket. "Without our packages gone we are as good as dead. Don't you have eyes or can't you see?"

Kinch pushed the hand away like a fly. "I can see clearly. I see a man who can't separate friend from enemy. I see a man who thinks everybody is an enemy. You choose the wrong enemy to federate."

Stone smirked and leaned back. "You are not going to last long here. If you don't use the Germans to put the Serbs back into their place, you're not going to last here long."

Kinch clenched his fists. "And you are never going to get away from here as long as you choose a manipulative German guard over your allied soldiers and airmen. Who did tell you that our packages are gone?"

"I don't need anybody telling me this. I can see this for myself!" Stone pointed with his fist to the other side.

"It was Sergeant Koehler, right?" Kinch argued while the surrounding crowd was growing.

"He is the sergeant of the guard," Private Bird stated. It was the first time that the young man contributed to the confrontation. His short reddish hair and speckles gave him a look that would better fit in a summer camp than a POW camp. "He was the one to find out."

"And how do you know the Serbians stole it?"

"Who else? The trucks are parking in their part of the camp. We couldn't get to our packages." Stone shock his fists again. "They prevented it. And then they stole them."

Kinch glanced to the man next to him. Sergeant Olsen stood by him. Behind Sergeant Olsen, Private Keller and everybody else who had arrived with him from Stalag XIII stood by him.

The surrounding crowd had grown fast. The few German guards he could see were twitching nervously. Their hands grabbed their guns as if they needed them to reassure them. It was the most dangerous emotion they felt - fear.

Kinch took a deep breath. His next statement would be met with opposition. "Sergeant Stone, I am sure that the Serbians didn't steal our Red Cross packages."

"Of course, you would be taking their side! Maybe you stole it!"

"Hey, we couldn't steal them either," Olsen said, "because your behavior doesn't make us welcome in the Serbian part of the camp."

"There shouldn't be a Serbian part. There only should be friends and enemies."

"And the enemies are the Serbians," Stone insisted.

"I am going to talk to the Serbians and then we will find out. Do you really want to do the favor to Sergeant Koehler and give him your package and freedom?"

Snorting, Stone turned away. "The German don't need to steal our packages. They can simply refuse to hand them over."

"Are you sure? Maybe Sergeant Koehler wants to profit twice: first he is going to sell our packages on the black market and the next inspection is only going to hear, from you, that it was the Serbians. He is going to get away with it! And secondly, you and I, we will never manage an escape as long as not all allied prisoners work together."

"I am not going to work with them." With that Stone kicked up dirt and stalked away.

Kinch addressed the surrounding men. "You have to be careful what you believe. Who is going to win the most by keeping this camp in disorder and internally damaged? It's not the Serbians. They want to go home and fight the Nazis as badly as we do."

He looked around, noting who was listing and willing to check their belief and who refused to believe anything else.

"That's all!" Kinch ordered and the crowd dispersed.

"We should tell them that we know that Sergeant Koehler is behind it. We don't have to believe anything, we know," Olsen commented.

"As long as they are a danger to us, we can't tell them that we understand German."

Olsen nodded. "They just going to use it against us in a fit of rage."

"This is what I fear."

"Sir," Private Keller tapped him on the shoulder. "Koehler is with Bird."

Kinch whirled around. He looked across the open ground. Next to the invisible line to the Serbian part, the German sergeant and Private Bird were standing around, talking.

Suddenly Bird held up a Red Cross package and showed it to Sergeant Stone. His face was lined with fury as he pointed to the Barracks across the invisible line.

Kinch remembered Stone's threat about giving up a Serbian tunnel. Kinch shook his head. This wouldn't happen on his watch.

"We need-"

Before he could actually make an order, Olsen and the rest his men were already hurrying across the camp in a clear line to intercept Sergeant Stone.

"This is the proof," Stone growled as Kinch stood in his way.

"I don't care. You won't give up our means of escape!"

Stone snorted. "And who is going to stop me?" he dared Kinch. "You?"

Kinch balled his fists. "Yes."

"I don't think so." The sergeant mustered Kinch from head to toe. He came to same conclusion, Kinch had drawn. Kinch could take him. So he changed tactics. "Sergeant Koehler!" Stone called out with a loud voice. "I need you over here."

Kinch heard Olsen take a deep breath behind him.

They had seconds.

In the clear eye line from the sergeant of the guard they couldn't drag him away. But Kinch was experienced boxer. He knew where to hit. And he knew how to hit so it wouldn't be visible.

Kinch kicked Stone in the shin and greeted his downward movement with a fist against the side of his neck, cutting off the blood circulation for just a moment to make him faint.

Holding out his hands, Kinch caught Stone and lowered him to the ground.

"What is going on here!" Sergeant Koehler put his hands on his hips and looked down on Kinch.

Kinch had only ever seen the man from distance. In person he was even shorter. He couldn't risk riling up the man further more. So he stayed down hiding his height and strength.

"Sergeant Stone was feeling ill. He called for you to ask for help seeing as you are the kindest guard around here." Olsen lied through his teeth. "But then out of the blue he took a turn for the worse and collapsed. He needs a doctor." Olsen put on his best mask of innocence.

The German guard kicked slightly against the prone body with the tip of his left boot.

Kinch kept his left hand pressed against Stone's neck while his right hand pretended to wake him.

"He doesn't need a doctor. Just get him out of the sun," Koehler decided. He turned around and came face to face with Private Bird.

The private stepped aside and kept quiet.

With a last angry scowl, Koehler strolled away. If he suspected foul play, he wasn't saying anything.

Taking a deep breath, Kinch let go of Stone. While they waited until Stone was fully awake again, Kinch stared at Private Bird. It shouldn't feel like a victory if your own countryman didn't rat you out. And yet it did. In this place and time, Kinch knew that he had won his first battle.

"We do not give up a tunnel or a way to escape. I don't care if it's the Serbian or we who escape. Any escape is hindering the German war effort and is considered something good. Clear?"

As he looked around and saw the looks of shame and awe, Kinch recognized that this camp needed more than a well placed punch or a clever strategy. A badly guarded POW camp was enough to keep allied airmen prisoner if they were fighting with each other.

This camp needed structure and a plan. His first plan to escape and return wasn't possible if he didn't finish the challenge this camp presented.

Kinch stood up, rising to his full height.

"Nobody," he looked across the men he could see, "I repeat, nobody tells the German anything without me or Sergeant Olsen agreeing. Is this clear? Tell everybody that the time where we played chicken for the Germans are over."

He fixed the first man, Private Bird, with a glare and waited until he looked away first. "Is this clear?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 _TBC_


	5. Day Four

_Special thanks to_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, **Guest,** for your review. And thank you all for reading and following this story._ _  
_

* * *

 **DAY FOUR**

* * *

LeBeau carefully straightened, wiping at his face with his scarf. Crouching on the roof of their newest barracks, he didn't have any shadow to escape the hot sun.

"Here," the guy down on the ground called up.

Sighing, he gripped the offered wood plank and hefted it up.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the smallest and therefore the lightest guy around," Major Land answered. He was the highest ranking officer of the POW in this camp. He wasn't required to work but did nonetheless.

Before LeBeau could offer a comment, loud voice drifted over from the south. He raised his head to look but couldn't detect the source of the turmoil.

"Special formation!"

Of course, just as he was finishing the roof he had to climb down. The heat and hunger made everybody more short-tempered than the rest of the year. LeBeau didn't wait for another invitation and climbed down as fast as possible.

Two German guards were pushing an allied prisoner to the central place.

Colonel Lowe, the German commandant, was already waiting for them.

"We caught him trying to escape," the older of the two guards reported.

As LeBeau came near he recognized the man as Lieutenant Leonard. Cold fear gripped his heart. The lieutenant wouldn't just try to escape and leave his friend behind. He didn't know the story behind this friendship but he knew that it ran deep. LeBeau pushed to the front.

His heart sank as he reached it.

The wild blond hair stood all around as if he had been in a fight. Dirt caked his hands and the left side of his face. A small trickle of blood ran down from his left eyebrow, smearing through the dirt.

The lieutenant kept his hands up.

LeBeau narrowed his eyes as he saw something in his hand. Taking a deep breath, LeBeau looked up to the sky as his heart sank further. Leonard had pressed carefully his thumb against the base of the plant in his right hand. The wind ruffled through the elderflowers.

He never had tried to escape.

A strange silence settled across the camp. They were busy building barracks and sheds. They didn't have a building for solitary confinement yet. And even if they had one, nobody knew what Lieutenant Colonel Lowe's favorite punishment would be.

LeBeau swallowed hard. He didn't want to image what the commandant would do.

Through the throng of prisoners, Major Land came to the front. He was a good officer but he couldn't hold a candle to Colonel Hogan.

"What happened?" Lieutenant Colonel Lowe asked his guards for a report.

"We caught him outside the fence," the young guard answered. He couldn't be much older than the lieutenant.

Major Land looked from Leonard to Lowe. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Even Colonel Lowe was reluctant to say or do something. He sighed. "You know what punishment stands for an escape attempt. I -"

LeBeau knew what he had to do. Bracing himself, he stepped forward, interrupting the commandant. "Colonel Lowe? Lieutenant Leonard didn't try to escape."

The attention switched from Leonard to him in a heartbeat.

He swallowed hard.

"Really?" For a German it didn't even sound like the threat LeBeau had expected. It almost sounded hopeful as if it would get him out of a duty he didn't want to do.

He nodded. "It's my fault. I told him that I could make a tea that would help his friend, Lieutenant Lincoln, with his cough. But I'd needed some of _surreau_ blossoms and -"

" _Surreau_?"

"Elderflowers," Major Land explained. "Lieutenant Lincoln has a bad cough."

Lowe turned to his sergeant of the guard, who looked to Leonard and then nodded. "He is the one who sticks to the sickest of the prisoners."

Lowe's gaze returned to LeBeau making him feel as if he was back in boot camp and threatened to fail an unannounced inspection.

The commandant held out his hand to Leonard who narrowed his eyes.

"Give him the plants, Lieutenant," Major Land ordered as it became clear that Leonard wasn't willing to give them up without a fight.

For a moment everybody held his breath. Then Lowe grabbed the plant. LeBeau braced himself for a display of German strength and the destruction of the only thing he could think of to help Lincoln.

But Lowe carefully inspected the blossom. He rolled it between his fingers. "What do you need to make this tea?"

LeBeau glanced to Major Land who appeared to be as astonished as he felt.

"More blossoms. Then I need to dry them, water and a tea kettle."

Lowe nodded. "Get him what he needs," he said to his guards.

The German guards hesitated a moment. They were as surprised as the allied prisoners.

"Make this tea," the commandant ordered, "and make enough for all sick men, prisoners and guards alike."

* * *

Carter sighed relieved as the car finally stopped. After three days traveling he only wanted to sleep in a place that didn't move.

Langenscheidt had brought him to the train station where two new guards had been waiting. And the endless travel had continued.

The door opened and Carter climbed out. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he looked around and froze instantly. In front of him a huge castle loomed over the little village and tiny car. This wasn't a villa or a palace, this was a castle bigger and more beautiful than in the fairy-tale books in school.

"Wow." Carter stood astonished. Big and small towers, hundreds of roofs and windows all together build a monument.

"This way." His guard pointed to a wooden bridge crossing a ditch that run around the castle.

Carter forget for a moment to think about an escape, he was so fascinated.

"Great, right?"

Numbly, he nodded.

"This is a masterpiece of the Aryan race." The German guard who had introduced himself as Sergeant Graf, said. "This castle withstood hundreds of battles, leaderships and has secret passages not even my grandfather had managed to find. And he had been searching since he was a little boy."

Carter walked through the gate in the outer wall. The wall was thicker than the main room in barracks 2. He had an inkling that his wasn't the first war that this castle had endured.

The guard led him through several gates, room, doors and passageways until they reached a bright and open office.

A German lieutenant colonel sat behind a simple desk. Only a few paper were stacked on the surface. Carter assumed that this was what an efficient German office had to look like.

Behind him, the guard coughed in his fist. For a German guard he was surprisingly nice.

Carter shook himself out of his stupor at the friendly reminder and came to attention.

Another door to the office was opened and an American officer came through with his own German guard.

"Major Cliff, reporting as ordered."

The German commandant rose and walked around his desk. His steel-capped boots struck, unnaturally loud, on the stone floor.

"Major Cliff, we have a new pupil for you."

"Pupil?" Carter said, forgetting military protocol again. "I thought I am a prisoner of war."

The German laughed while Major Cliff bit his lip to keep silent. "Yes, you are."

Carter opened his mouth as Major Cliff interrupted him. "Name, rank and serial number only," he hissed.

Swallowing, Carter repeated the procedure he had already been through.

"Good, good. You remember your name. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Klass. I am the commandant of this special POW camp. You see, we are going to win the war. It is a matter of fact. It is our destiny."

Major Cliff rolled his eyes and shook almost invisibly his head. Carter got the message, don't listen, they only repeat the same stuff again. Not listing, Carter could do that.

"And we are going to prove it to you and the American government. A war against us is useless and not necessary as we are part of the same superior race. And you were selected to be a member of this new creation of a special force."

Carter shrugged. "I think there's a misunderstanding. I don't belong to any special POW camp."

Annoyed, Colonel Klass swept over his desk as if he needed to remove an unpleasant thought and grabbed a paper. "Your government thinks differently and agreed to this school. After we have shown to you the superiority of the German race you can return home and be the living, breathing proof."

With a cheerful smirk, he canted: "Then we can stop this senseless spilling of blood."

Major Cliff had enough. "With all due respect, Colonel Klass, the Geneva Convention is pretty specific about the -"

Colonel Klass winked off. "Major Cliff, didn't we have this discussion already? Your government has agreed and nothing else matters."

The German commandant clapped his hand. "I'll leave the details to Major Cliff and Dr. Klug." He sat back down and started to work.

It was a dismal.

"Come on." Cliff pointed to the door he had come from. Bewildered, Carter followed him.

Just after they had left the office their guards disappeared and left the two Americans alone.

"So, where you're from?"

"Bullfrog, North Dakota, but please don't ask me any questions. I usually say the wrong thing. Just ask Colonel Hogan. He once tasked me to tell the German some wrong information, but I always had them mixed up and -"

The major held up his hand. "I get it."

They walked around endless passages and crossed a door until they were in a yard.

"What is this?"

"This is the Burgschloss. They want to prove us their 'superiority' and make us traitors."

"What? But they can't do this! We are already fighting a war against them."

Cliff snorted. "Klass claims that the American government has agreed to this and that they were selecting and sending the prisoners here for education. I wrote to the Red Cross and General Eisenhower for confirmation but I don't expect a truthful answer."

Carter shook his head. "This can't be. Nobody would send me anywhere for education or as a proof of intelligence."

In the yard, a few other allied soldiers, all Americans, milled around.

"Sergeant Collins?"

A blond young man with blue eyes trotted over. "Sir?"

"This is Technical Sergeant Carter, your new roommate."

"Roommate?" Carter repeated confused. This castle didn't only look straight from a fairy-tale, no, since he had stepped inside, he appeared to have entered one.

"The Nazis are trying to buy us with good food, two men rooms and soft beds," Major Cliff explained.

"But we are sleeping on the ground. If they bring out the beds for all of my comrades I might consider sleeping in the bed but until then we don't use them."

Carter nodded. That sounded logical. Kind of, except that he hadn't sleep in a real bed for a long time. It would have been nice.

* * *

 _TBC_


	6. Day Five

_Special thanks to_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY FIVE**

* * *

Hogan stalked around the courtyard again trying to find an opening or weakness in the guards.

"Trying to flee, Papa Bear?" Hochstetter stood near the gate. He kneaded his gloves with his left hand. The permanent scowl on his face was underlined by his sneer. "I have surrounded this house with a band of steel. Nobody will escape!"

Hogan grinned, unwilling to give even an inch to Hochstetter. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

"I know you're Papa Bear and in a few days even General Burkhalter will know it." Hochstetter stepped into Hogan's personal space. "Then you will tell me everything. And it's going to be the last thing you're going to do!"

Hogan tilted his head, pretending to consider this option. "That's possible. I know a lot of things, but if it's enough to talk for a whole lifetime … I'm not so sure," Hogan trailed off.

Hochstetter growled. "Bah!" Then he marched across the street to confer with one of his SS guards.

Hogan turned away from the gate and scanned the area for his other plan. This way wouldn't work for now.

He scowled as he watched General Burkhalter driving away and leaving Colonel Klink standing behind.

It was the next missed opportunity.

"He didn't even listen," Klink complained as soon as Hogan had reached him. "He wouldn't even listen to my plan!"

Hogan smirked. "Not everybody is born to recognize intelligence right away."

An angry scowl settled across Klink's face.

As long as neither Klink nor Hogan could leave, Hogan was dependent on his men. He hated having to wait and hope.

"I just wanted to help and he is driving away just like this." Klink snapped with his fingers.

Hogan would do the same with Klink if he could. Trying to hide his unflattering thoughts, Hogan looked up to the sky. The clear blue sky promised a hot summer day. Only the swallows could cross the wall around Burkhalter's villa. Everybody else was stuck.

"What have I done to deserve this!" Klink continued his complaints, interrupting Hogan's daydreams about flying away like a bird.

"You became a German officer."

"Hogan! I didn't have a choice. My family, my heritage, the war. It wasn't a choice and certainly not mine."

"Fine, then Germany shouldn't have started this war."

"Hogan!" Klink repeated and balled his fist. "This isn't about the war, it's about this mysterious Papa Bear."

With a deep sigh, Hogan turned his attention to Klink and his problems. "But you wouldn't have a problem with Papa Bear if there wouldn't be a war."

"Nonsense! Hogan, this Papa Bear has something against me personally and I don't know why! I just tried to be a good officer."

Hogan snorted. "He has something against you?" Even for Klink, that was quite a leap.

"Of course. Nobody has ever escaped successfully from Stalag XIII. I run the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. And that's the reason this Papa Bear has stopped his acts of sabotage – to make me look bad. He refuses to continue his treasonous acts just to remove me from Stalag XIII."

Hogan rolled his eyes. Fighting to keep the words in, Hogan bit his lips. It wouldn't help him to lose his cool just now, but sometimes Klink was almost too much.

"Can one single man be hated this much?" Klink gazed through the fence of the gate to the village laying slightly below the villa. He had his fist under his chin and supported his elbow with his other arm. It was a classic posture of Klink.

Hogan sighed. It meant work for him because the commandant was thinking. He didn't need to wait for long.

Klink turned around and regarded his former senior officer. "Hogan, tell me: was I such a bad commandant, that this Papa Bear has to remove me? Wasn't I fair and just?"

Hogan glanced to the main door of the villa behind him, hoping that somebody would come and save him from this surreal conversation. But the wooden door with panels and old ornaments remained stubbornly shut.

He put on his best smiling mask and shrugged. "Colonel Klink, you either have it, or you don't have it."

"You either have it or you don't have it," Klink repeated, thinking it over.

Hogan released a breath. Hochstetter had soured his mood so much, he wasn't interested in consoling Klink.

Suddenly Klink clapped his hands together and swirled around: "Haha!" He exulted. "I remember: my star!"

Hogan kept his face blank while trying to recall this incident. The old saying about needing a good memory for lying was probably true. Currently his memory was failing him.

"Your star has saved you many times, Herr Commandant. You need to remember this," Hogan said, turned and walked away before he was asked for specifics.

He needed a new plan.

* * *

Newkirk glanced to his left, then to his right. Nobody lingered around. After two days watching the new routine in the camp, he had found a good moment to duck into barracks 2 and hopefully to disappear into the tunnel without being seen.

As entry point the backward window from Colonel Hogan's quarters, now used by Major Norris, was perfect.

With quick fingers, the window mechanism opened quietly, and he jumped into the room. After closing the blinds behind him, Newkirk waited. In the dim light he listened for voices or the sound of human occupation like breathing or the squeaking of one of the beds.

The room smelled like wet wood. It had been cleaned recently.

Everything was silent and Newkirk tiptoed to the door. Carefully he opened it and glanced in the main part of barracks 2. Usually he had to be careful before going in the other direction. He didn't want to interrupt again Colonel Hogan while he gave detailed instruction to Tiger or another female agent.

Nobody was in the main room. With a little smile on his lips he skulked to Kinch's bunk. It was his ticket to get out of here.

Just as he was raising his hand to knock against the bed frame, the door behind him was opened.

"What are you doing here?"

Newkirk closed his eyes. Schultz had forgotten him in the cooler and he had apparently forgotten his stealth there.

Slowly he turned around.

In the door, the young Lieutenant Nash stood and stared at him with narrowed eyes.

A lieutenant. This wasn't so bad. Newkirk could work with merely a lieutenant. He opened his mouth for a lie as he spotted Major Norris behind the lieutenant.

"What's going on here?" He demanded, his friendly voice gone, replaced by a voice of a man used to issue order against the noise of starting B-29.

"Corporal Newkirk is searching through our stuff," Nash accused him.

Major Norris entered the barracks and closed the door behind him with a loud bang. His friendly face had vanished and angry lines appeared on his forehead. "We have told you already that we don't have your stuff."

Newkirk bit his lip. The closed door opened a possibility and signaled that this major wasn't interested in having a discussion like this in front of everybody or worse the Germans.

He sighed and forced his tense muscles to relax. "I had hoped that one of the guys had managed to hide it."

The major raised an eyebrow. "Hid it?" He went to the top to the table and fished a cigarette out of his pocket.

Thinking furiously, Newkirk settled on the first half-truth he could think of. "The papers."

The lieutenant relaxed slightly, sitting down on the bench while Major Norris signaled him to continue.

"I, ahem, borrowed some blank papers from the Commandant's office. We wanted to use them for our escape. You need -"

"Papers, if you plan to travel more than a few feet from the Stalag away. We know. This isn't our first try."

Newkirk nodded. "That got me the sentence in the cooler. As far as I know the Germans never found them, so I thought maybe," he trailed off.

Again, Lieutenant Nash and Major Norris shared a look. "Where did you hide them?"

Newkirk grimaced to hide the smile on his face. If they would buy the next line, he was almost home. "In the commandant's quarters."

"What?"

"We cleaned his office and then Colonel Hogan offered our service for his quarters and good old Klink agreed." Newkirk shrugged as if this wouldn't bother him much. "I grabbed them from the office and hid them in the quarters. The governor was supposed to retrieve them in the next dinner he was forced to attend."

It sounded plausible. And was strictly even true, with one or two exceptions.

"How many papers are we talking about?"

"Ten to twenty, I grabbed a lot. Probably too many or he wouldn't have found out so soon." Newkirk tapped nervously with his finger tips against the balm of his hands. Lieutenant Nash and Major Norris did again their officers thing and looked at each other.

"If these papers aren't here, then Colonel Hogan hadn't retrieved them before he was ..." Newkirk didn't dare to choose a verb afraid that it would become reality. "So, they should be still in the commandant's quarter."

Major Norris waited moment. Then he nodded. "Okay, let's retrieve them."

* * *

Carter doubted that anybody would find any Aryan blood inside him as he couldn't even find his way across the Burgschloss.

The doors and passageways all looked the same to him.

He paused and looked around. He already had been around here. There was a missing stone in the wall he had noticed before.

"Got lost again?"

Carter jerked and whirled around. "Collins, you scared me." He put his hands in his pockets hiding his insecurity and shrugged.

Collins smirked. With a quick smile, he tried to help him. "These old castles were built for wars and fights. There are a lot of hidden corners around here to disappear behind. Or so Second Lieutenant Cycle likes to lecture us."

"Didn't you use this to escape?" Carter couldn't repel and touched the scabbled rubble used to build this castle. It was almost smooth, only a bit grainy and cold.

His roommate shook his head. "Sadly, most of the German guards grew up around here or next to the Burgschloss. They know every corner better than we do. So, are you lost?"

Carter straightened. "I know where I am."

Laughing out loud, Collins clapped him on his shoulder. "Yeah, I also couldn't find the classroom. Come on, attendance is required and missing severely punished. It's not even a choice between sitting in a warm dry place and the cold damp dungeon below the Burgschloss. If you were ever down there, you are never late again." He shuddered. "Ever." He repeated and Carter didn't want to image the story behind his resolve.

Collins navigated them securely around a lot of corridors and stairs. The air felt cool on his face.

"Were you caught trying to escape?" Carter asked, still thinking about the dungeon.

"I wish," Collins shook his head, "but you can end up down there for a lot of different offenses."

Carter followed his new friend to a big room. Everything in this castle was big. Beside Major Cliff and Collins, he had met most of the other prisoners yesterday evening in the sleeping quarters. But he would need a few days until he remembered all of their names. The room looked like a class room. Silently, he followed Collins and sat down next to him.

The door opened and a short, bald man with thick glasses came in.

He glared across the room. The unhappy frown seemed permanently fixed on his face. But as he spotted Carter his face lit up. "Ah, there's our new pupil."

Carter opened his mouth, but Collins grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

"And what a beautiful example," the man continued. Then he turned serious. "I am Dr. Klug. And today we are going to interrupt our studies on the superior ability of the Aryan race in literature and discuss again the biological superiority."

The statement was met with sighing around the room.

"Sergeant Carter, come here."

Carter jerked upright. Before he could open his mouth, Collins leaned near: "Don't, just go and play in their dog and pony show. This is one of the offenses I've told you about."

Swallowing, Carter took the advice.

"As you can see here," he turned Carter's head to the side, "the strong and well-built form of the Aryan skull." Then he turned Carter's head back and touched his nose.

Wanting to jerk away, Carter caught in the last moment Collins and Cliff's shake of the head. He stilled.

"The nose and eye area are textbook examples." Dr. Klug paused and looked like he was waiting for applause.

Carter frowned, trying to connect everything he knew about the Nazi and their race fixation and his heritage. "Does this mean that Aryan is another word for human?"

Klug shook his head and smiled a little tolerantly. "No, it just means that the Aryan race can be found everywhere in the world."

Carter started to beam, his worry forgotten for a moment. This was good news. "This I have to write home. My family will be so thrilled that my Sioux tribe is equal to you."

"No," Dr. Klug denied. "The Sioux is an Indian tribe. They-"

"But you just said," Carter interrupted him, "that Aryans can be found everywhere and that I look like one, so it means ..." Carter thought hard. "Oh right, I know what this means. Your search for Aryan blood is your attempt to prove that everybody is equal. You sure have difficult way to say that everybody is -"

Loud laughter erupted and drowned out Carter's last words.

Confused, he looked at his laughing comrades. Collins shook in laughter.

"Silence!" Dr. Klug screamed and his face became an unhealthy shade of red. "This isn't -"

As it became clear that he couldn't take back control Klug went to the door for a guard.

The guard ran into the room, raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

In the sudden silence, his words were far too loud. "Silence!"

Carter looked down at himself, but he couldn't feel anything. Then he looked across his comrades. Nobody appeared hurt but everybody checked on the man next to him.

Slowly, some dirt trickled down on him. Carter looked up. In the stucco ceiling, a fresh bullet hole had destroyed the former artistic style. He shook his head, for some laughter it seemed idiotic to destroy such a beautiful work.

"The next one laughing is shot. Clear?"

The silence in the room was confirmation enough. Carter crept back to his seat and sat down. He really hadn't wanted to endanger all of them. He was on his second day here, and he had already made new enemies.

* * *

 _TBC_

 _A/N Carter's scene is inspired by the real-life account of Salomon Perel's experience as Jew in the Hitler Youth ("Europa, Europa")._


	7. Day Six

_Special thanks to_ ** _Sapphire363_** _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, guest, for your review. Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY SIX**

* * *

Newkirk scowled at Sergeant Baker as if the man was personally responsible that he couldn't enter the commandant's quarter alone.

It wasn't Baker's fault. Newkirk put down hard the water bucket.

"This is awesome." Baker sighed as he mopped the floor. "I'll write home to my mom: 'Dear mom, I joined the Army so I could clean living rooms. Love, your son'. I could've stayed home for this."

Newkirk pretend to dust the furniture before he took the mop and washed the surface. All under the watchful glare of a real soldier. Schultzie would have sat down and put his feet up on the table. In less than a minute Newkirk could have gotten to work. But under real guards this was far more difficult.

"So what would your mother say about this?" Sergeant Baker was still trying to make conversation.

Newkirk shrugged indifferently. He had more important things to do and had to keep his focus.

Suddenly, a loud crash outside startled their guard. The sound of raised voices and fighting followed.

Newkirk straightened and glanced to the window. With his best worried face, he said: "Hopefully they won't break the window again. The last time it took three months to repair it and the commandant was unpleasant to be around all that time."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his words had the desired effect on their German guard.

"I can only imagine how that had to be. The commandant couldn't get any rest from all the sounds, the smells and everything." Baker added his own tales. "And we all know how bad this can end."

The German guard swallowed visibly.

"Maybe the guards outside can stop the brawl before it can reach the window at all." Baker said with a straight face. "But of course only if they realize the danger."

A stone hit the wooden wall on the outside. Perfectly placed there by the good Lieutenant Nash. The windows vibrated and clanged in response.

The guard paled even more. "You stay here and clean. I make sure that nothing happens to the window."

Baker and Newkirk nodded with their most solemn faces they could muster while watching the fearful expression of their guard.

The guard raced outside. "Hey, you there! Stop it! Don't come near the windows!"

Baker followed the German guard and took watch at the door. Newkirk hurried to the oven and started to move it away from the wall. He sighed in relief as the tunnel behind it appeared completely intact.

Newkirk glanced to Baker and then back to the tunnel. The sergeant would take the fall, if Newkirk disappeared but he also couldn't risk the operation more than necessary. Not as long as he didn't know what had happened to his friends and Papa Bear.

"He's coming back," Baker said and turned around.

His eyes widened as he saw the hole in the floor beneath the oven. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Newkirk cursed, grabbed Baker's jacked and pushed him into the hole. "Let's go."

From the inside of the tunnel, Newkirk closed the trap door just seconds before the German guard returned.

Closing his eyes, Newkirk held on the handle and held his breath. Beside him, he could hear the harsh breath of Sergeant Baker who remained quiet, realizing that they had to hide.

After a few moments of nothing, Newkirk released his breath. He had been fast enough. The guard hadn't seen the entry.

It was time for different things. He started to turn and walk in the general direction of their 'office'.

The dark and damp air should have been Newkirk's first clue, but after days not knowing, he just had to check.

"Carter?" He called out. Feeling along the nearest wall his feet traveled instinctively well-known routes. "LeBeau?"

"What's going on?" Baker asked behind him. "What is this?"

Newkirk found a lamp and lit it up. For the moment he ignored his surprise guest. "Kinch?"

With the light he could search faster. He only lit as many lamps as necessary and checked every room. Carter's workbench looked as if he was just around the corner and could return any moment.

Next, Newkirk reached LeBeau's storage full of his secret stash of unpronounceable and uneatable spices and ingredients. Nothing seemed disrupted. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

"Anybody?" Newkirk told himself that only the echo in the tunnel made his voice sound like a sob.

"What are you searching for?" Baker stood behind him. Up until now he had silently followed him.

Newkirk glanced over his shoulder. For suddenly entering a tunnel system behind the oven in the commandant's quarter, Baker took whole situation surprisingly stoic and calm. He opened his mouth to answer but the words were stuck in his throat.

Realizing that he wouldn't get an answer, Baker pointed with his finger to a neighboring tunnel. "There's already light over there."

Newkirk whirled around. He sighed in relief as he recognized where the tunnel led. "Kinch."

He ran the last few feet to the radio room. "Kinch?"

As he entered the room, he halted as the reality set in. The light was on but nobody was home. The bunk bed was undisturbed and empty.

Swallowing hard, Newkirk closed his eyes. Only the humming of a generator providing light and power for the radio sounded as the background noise.

He had to face the reality. Nobody was here. By trying to remember what specific orders he had in a case like this, he forced his fear from his mind. He had always assumed that everything would be done together. They would fight, flee or die together.

"I guess this is Papa Bear."

Newkirk's eyes snapped open. He turned to his new guest and found him patting the radio.

"No, this is just our radio."

Baker nodded. "Under the hand, we always got the advice to head for Stalag XIII. I guess I know now why."

Shrugging, Newkirk started to look through the papers on the table. Kinch was always tidy and sorted. Somewhere around here should be the emergency list for what to destroy and who to contact to cease all operations.

"Doesn't matter anymore. We need to destroy everything," Newkirk said as he found the list.

"Destroy? You mean we have a radio and we're going to destroy it?"

"It's standing orders from London. In case that Papa Bear is compromised we need to clear everything and go back to London." He turned and marched in direction of Carter's workbench. "I guess you're going to find out sooner rather than later if it's true what they say about London's pubs."

In Carter's room he looked for the box labeled 'don't touch'. The first he found was filled with a bow and arrows. Annoyed, Newkirk pushed it harder than necessary beneath the stool.

Continuing his search, he found boxed labeled 'don't touch' full of paint, a book about chemistry and some strange smelling tubes.

He checked Kinch's list again. In his neat handwriting, Kinch had clearly stated that a box labeled 'don't touch' contained the reserved amount of dynamite to blow up every important part of the tunnel system.

"Carter," Newkirk whispered. He listened to the echo and waited for Carter to stumble over his words in an apology. But only silence answered him. Carter would never again apologize for any mistake.

Balling his hands in fists, Newkirk shoved away his dark thoughts. The gestapo hadn't had enough proof to find Papa Bear or this tunnel would be infested by the black plague. He had to believe that Carter and LeBeau would land on their feet. They would return to London and there he would meet up with them again.

He smiled as he imaged Carter's face if he would get a slap to the head in greeting. With this uplifting image, Newkirk returned to the radio room. Kinch knew Carter as good as he did. If something was necessary to be found right away, he would keep it himself.

Baker was still standing in the radio room, but his focus was on Kinch's notes.

Like expected, Newkirk found the necessary tools to destroy the tunnel system within minutes, neatly staked in Kinch's shelf.

"Okay, I think I can do this," Baker announced.

"Do what?"

"Your radio operator was well organized. I think I can overtake for him and play Papa Bear."

Newkirk put the box he held down and straightened. "They will recognize that this isn't Kinch's hand and ignore you or give you false information."

Then the implications of Baker's statement hit Newkirk. "You want to do what?" He marched to the table and grabbed Baker's jacket. "What!"

"Calm down, buddy." He put down the board and made a calming motion. "I thought about it while you prepared everything. These orders where meant for a case where the whole camp had to flee. If you blow up parts of the tunnel now, nobody in the camp will know what's going on. And worse, they will get blamed."

Newkirk let him go as if he had burned his hands.

He cursed. "I've forgotten about that."

"I can imagine," Baker said and straightened his jacket. "I guess nobody ever thought about a situation like this."

Newkirk started to pace. "What would the governor do?" he murmured.

"I don't know anything about your operation and whether you have enough material to help everybody -"

"No," Newkirk shook his head. "If Colonel Hogan would order an evacuation, every barracks was responsible for itself. We made sure that every barracks had at least one German speaker who was sent out often enough to know the way and all the necessary underground contacts. It is your classic scatter order, except that it was supposed to be done in groups."

Baker nodded. "But now nobody up there even suspects that they're sitting on a tunnel system used to -" he paused. "What are you doing actually?"

Newkirk snorted. "The better question would be: what aren't we doing? Mainly we process downed flier and return them to England, sometimes sabotage, sometimes espionage and sometimes the latest insane scheme either London or the governor invented."

"Sounds like fun," Baker said to fill the silence.

"If you like fun, that can get you killed."

"Sure," Baker dared to smile, "I like driving a car."

Newkirk grinned. He had gotten lucky as he had pulled down this Sergeant Baker with him. He hadn't freaked out yet.

"I don't suppose we can simply go back upstairs and pretend to have never been gone," Baker proposed while he played with Kinch's pencil.

"Why not?" Newkirk answered, a sly grin on his face. "You know how to use the radio?"

Baker nodded.

"Okay, you contact London and tell them we need help. We need more people to evacuate the camp and I return upstairs and bring back the promised papers."

Nodding to himself, Newkirk congratulate himself to his fast thinking. He grabbed Baker's sleeve. Running, he showed him where he could sleep, find something to eat, necessary code books and the spy holes.

"London should answer you in 48 hours. But we can try to start the escaping already now." Newkirk pointed to a small entry in the tunnel wall. "This is an auxiliary tunnel to one of our official escape tunnels. They're dug and look like you'd expect an escape tunnel to look."

"Let me guess, I am supposed to cut off the connection to the main tunnel and give you a signal when you can start telling them, so the escaping can start without endangering the operation?"

Newkirk allowed himself a small smile. Colonel Hogan would recruit him right away.

The smile froze. But Colonel Hogan probably wouldn't do any hiring anymore.

He shook his head. He had to keep going the governor's most important work. Keep the camp safe. "Yes, ask London if they know anything about Papa Bear and where he is."

Baker nodded. "You need to get upstairs before you are missed."

Newkirk snorted. "We have disappeared from the commandant's quarter. If there isn't at least some sort of shouting, I'm going to be disappointed and hurt."

With a last glance to Baker he grabbed the rope to open the trap door to barracks 2. On Baker's 'all clear' signal he opened it and hurried upstairs. The trap door closed just as the main door opened.

"What are you doing here?"

Pretending to be shocked, Newkirk whirled around. It was only Lieutenant Nash. Again.

Newkirk straightened. "Trying to hide the papers." He patted his breast pocket. "I really don't want to end up in the cooler again."

"Where's Sergeant Baker?" The lieutenant demanded.

Shrugging, Newkirk put on his best innocent face. "We left the quarter together, then he wanted to make sure I make it back here without being seen."

"Why here and not your barracks?"

Newkirk sighed. "Because I know this shack and I live in barracks 4. The Germans would search there but not here. That's the reason why nobody was supposed to see me."

Lieutenant Nash stared at him with narrowed eyes. He was a smart guy and probably knew that Newkirk lied but without any further proof he couldn't do anything about it.

He nodded in acceptance of Newkirk's lie.

One hurdle successfully taken.

* * *

LeBeau wrung out the wash cloth and brought it over to Lincoln. He was still sick as a dog but the tea and soup had helped.

"Here."

Lincoln washed his face. His hands shook with exertion but the last coughing fit had only lasted a few minutes.

"Do you think you can eat some more soup?"

Nodding, Lincoln didn't even attempt to speak fearing the renewed coughing.

LeBeau stood up and went back to the stove.

In an unexpected show of gentleness, Colonel Lowe had ordered to create an infirmary building and allowed prisoners and soldiers in. The cots and protections from the weather had helped as much as the food and tea.

Of course, his elected status as the healer hadn't help his plan to escape. Never getting out of the room also meant never getting near a chance to escape. He just hoped that Colonel Hogan would understand this.

He took a bowl and put in some soup.

The sound of hard boots on the uneven ground alerted LeBeau to his new visitor. He looked up.

"How are they?" Colonel Lowe asked. With his glasses and small face, he looked more like a librarian than a solider.

LeBeau shrugged. "The same. But not worse."

"What is in this soup?"

"Just some _Plantain lancéolé_. It helps against the hunger and is also against the cough."

The German officer thought for a moment, then his face brightened. "Oh, you mean English Plantain. Yes, I remember this."

LeBeau stopped and stared at him.

Colonel Lowe smiled before he turned serious again. "After the Great War not only France had to suffer hunger." He glanced in the distance as if he saw a long forgotten memory. "We all got used to hunger and taking everything we could get our hands on to eat. I think I ate all my childhood only rutabaga. But now we don't even have this anymore." Lowe put his thumbs in his belt.

Remembering his work, LeBeau finished filling the bowl.

As he turned to go back to Lincoln, Lowe held up his hand and stopped him. "Do you know other ways to fill our water soup and get more food? I can -"

"No," LeBeau interrupted him. "I just remember things against coughing."

He turned away and stalked back to Lieutenant Lincoln who was watching him with half-open eyes.

The lie had come easily over his lips even as his empty stomach growled in protest.

The Germans had started this war, they deserved the hunger that came with it.

* * *

Kinch leaned against the raw wood of the barracks in the only shadow available.

Private Bird rounded the corner and came to a halt next to him.

"Why does everybody follow Stone?" Kinch asked before the private could disappear again.

Bird shrugged. "He seemed to know what's going on and how to survive here. I didn't know what else to do. It's not like a lot of my training included how to survive a POW camp ..." he trailed off.

Kinch nodded. "Do you know any Serbian speaking another language beside Serbian?"

Stone arrived just in time to hear the last question. He snorted. His collar hid almost completely the impressive bruise on his neck. inch didn't enjoy using his fists to make a point but in case of Stone it had been the only option for the given limited time frame.

"If you search for a Serb that speaks a civilized language you can search for a long time."

Kinch straightened and faced him. He didn't enjoy violence but he was prepared to use it.

"If you mean that nobody speaks English, you may be right," Olsen said before it could get out of hand. "But there are people who speak more than one language."

"Did you find anybody?"

Olsen shook his head. "The Germans are trying to keep us apart but we tried it with English, Italian, Polish and even a little Yiddish, but nothing really."

"Told you," Stone crossed his arms. "No civilized languages."

With a shrug, Olsen took out a cigarette and lit it up. After two days, their Red Cross packages had been suddenly found in a storage unit. Neither Kinch nor Olsen had been surprised.

Sergeant Stone mostly avoided Kinch but at least he respected Kinch as the new temporary leader.

Ignoring the man, Kinch raised his eyebrows. "Nothing really?"

"The skinny guy did ask something as we tried Italian but we couldn't understand him."

"Skinny guy, you mean Crazy Krawinitz?" Bird asked. "Nobody can understand him."

After a few looks around, pointed fingers and confusing descriptions, Olsen and Bird agreed on a man in dirty uniform.

"This is Krawinitz."

"And he reacted to Italian but we couldn't understand a word before we were separated again."

"What's his story?" Kinch asked as he watched the wiry man with short gray hair that withstood any comb.

"Krawinitz got really sick. He lost a lot of his teeth but not enough to be sent home." Sergeant Stone explained and shrugged. "We call him the Crazy Krawinitz. He tries everything to get out of here. There's even a bet pool for when and how he is going to lose it and go for the wire."

Kinch nodded.

Outside the air vibrated with heat but inside the barracks the air was stuffy and even worse. It made Kinch miss his tunnel and radio more. He needed to return.

Patting his chest, he found a single pack of smokes. It wasn't enough for his plan. "I need your cigarettes," he requested from the surrounding men.

"What?" Stone bristled as Olsen handed over his pack with a sigh.

Bird took a moment but then he handed them also over. The rest of the men followed suit.

He held out his hand for Stone.

"I am not going to give you my cigarettes. They're mine."

Kinch closed his hand. "See? This is your problem. You won't do anything for anybody else. So don't expect to get help with your problems."

Stone snorted and then stalked off, muttering under his breath: "I don't need any help."

They watched him go.

"I need a few minutes alone with this Sergeant Krawinitz." Kinch said and stared at Olsen who got the silent order.

Aloud Kinch started a new conversation. "So, Sergeant Olsen, don't you think the morale is a little low."

The man grinned. "What about a game? We could throw a ball around and call it flyball. I guess seeing as any true American can play this game but nobody around here knows the rules, we are going to get confused?"

The next man agreed. "Right, and maybe a lot of balls fly in this game where they shouldn't be flying."

"It's going to be dirty and loud."

Grinning, Kinch clapped Olsen on the back and wandered off.

While Olsen set up his cover game, Kinch strolled around the camp. He needed a good feel for the current location of the guards and where Sergeant Krawinitz was.

As the voices from Olsen's new-founded game grew louder and drew more and more guards and their attention, Kinch hurried to Krawinitz.

Nearing him, he tried to grab a cigarette and threw all of them down in the dirt. He looked at the Serbian and nodded to the ground. If he was a venturesome as Stone believed he would come over — either to help or because he understood the silent question.

Kinch squatted down to collect his cigarettes again. He waited until he felt a presence beside him. After looking around to verify that they were alone, Kinch wrote quickly a word in the dirt. "English?"

The man shook his head.

Kinch cursed and then stroke the word away.

Suddenly, the Serbian reached out with his fingers and wrote his own question: " _Français_?"

Laughing in relief, Kinch nodded. " _Qui, je parle Français._ "

The man shared his smile, patted his watch and pointed to his barracks and then to the ground. Kinch understood they would meet again.

He grabbed his cigarettes and stood up.

With fast steps Kinch hurried over to their new game. For the first time, Sergeant Koehler didn't appear in control. He screamed and cursed and even got dirt on his perfectly kept uniform.

It was time to stop the game.

Even for Kinch it was difficult to stop the engaged game again, but finally everybody had caught up and disappeared back to the shadows.

"I think I like flyball," Olsen said as they watched together the last men disappear and the guards returning to their posts. He breathed hard but smiled.

"What are the rules?"

"This is the best part," Olsen grinned, "we are still discussing."

Kinch smiled. He had his own good news. "I have also good news. We have a connection to the Serbians."

"You could understand that toothless man?"

"No, but I could read what he wrote."

"Oh," Olsen looked down. "I guess I forgot about writing. So he really speaks English?"

"No, but French."

For a moment Olsen appeared to be lost. "Right you speak French. But don't you think that Koehler is going to interrupt or ban a meeting between us and the Serbians. He needs our hostility."

"I know. That's why we need a plan."

After the unexpected exercises a lot of the men stood around the shadows and tried to cool down again.

But Kinch started to plan big. "Do you know where we are?"

"I guess you're not interested in the smart answer, right?" Olsen looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "So, yes. It's one of the places I've scouted."

"Anyone near?"

Olsen crossed his arms. "What's your plan?"

"What about an answer?" Kinch challenged, surprised at the reluctance of their outside man.

"I know a few people around." Olsen backed down. "But they don't operate on codes, only faces or if you have people to vouch for you."

Kinch nodded. "Is your face good enough?"

Sergeant Olsen sighed and shrugged. "I hope so."

Kinch looked up to the sky. "If we can get you out, do you think you can reach the underground and get help?"

Olsen nodded. "I guess I'm supposed to use the Serbian tunnel? But what about you? We won't get help from the underground if we bring a whole battalion of soldiers in the woods."

"That won't be necessary. Only you are going to use the tunnel." Kinch grinned. "With a little cooperation of the Serbians," he continued, "I am sure that Sergeant Koehler wants us gone. You know how he likes to transfer his problems."

Olsen snorted. "Oh, I understand. I use the tunnel, you use Koehler's transfer service. A transfer service that ends right in the arms of the underground."

Kinch shared the hopeful smile. But then it dimmed. "But first we need to actually talk to the Serbians and get an agreement to this plan."

One problem solved. A few more still to go.

* * *

 _TBC_


	8. Day Seven

_Special thanks to_ ** _Sapphire363_** _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you very much, **Guest,** for writing your thoughts in a review. I appreciate it._

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY SEVEN**

* * *

"Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan jerked awake.

A hushed voice called out again. "Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan had no problem identifying Colonel Klink's voice. After switching on the light beside his bed, Hogan glanced at his watch: six o'clock in the morning. He sighed.

Klink knocked again.

If the commandant was in this mood, he couldn't be stopped and would alert the guards in no time.

Sighing again, Hogan grabbed his dressing gown, put it on and went to the door. "What?"

Now after making so much noise, Klink looked carefully around and pressed his index finger against his lips. "Psst."

"What?" Hogan asked again in a hushed voice.

Klink pushed Hogan aside and wormed his way into the room. He threatened to burst with joy if his superior smile was anything to go by.

He rubbed his hands together and then straightened his shoulder, pretending to be a serious military man. "You won't believe it!"

Hogan closed the door and leaned his head against the wood, smelling the fresh furniture polish used on it. It was far too early for a visit by Klink.

He took a deep breath and turned around with a false smile. "Of course, I cannot compete with your intellect. What happened?"

Klink brought his hands together again. Rubbing them, he grinned from ear to ear. "You either have it or you don't have it!"

Rubbing at his tired eyes, Hogan knew that he had to play the game whether he was in the mood or not. "And you have it?"

"Of course!" Colonel Klink jerked and straightened. "I just thought about what I wanted to have and -" he moved his hand in a slow motion as if he wanted to do magic. "Just like Napoleon, if I may say so."

Again Klink's hand wandered to his stomach and he repeated the posture made famous by Napoleon's painter.

Hogan had created a monster. He frowned. Something wasn't right here. "What did you do?"

"What did I do? You need to ask! I made it happen, of course!" Klink stomped a little with his foot to underline his anger.

"You killed Hochstetter?"

"Nonsense! I don't need to kill anybody. I just signaled Papa Bear to continue his operation and he did.'

The surprised face Hogan didn't even have to play. "He did?"

"Yes, the Abwehr caught radio signals and the Gestapo intercepted at least one message to the Hammelburg underground."

Hogan swallowed hard. Without more information he couldn't even fathom a guess whether this was a trap for the Underground or a good plan from the good guys.

"You should have seen Hochstetter's face as he found out." Klink had already forgotten Hogan's unimpressed reaction and was back celebrating like a little boy.

"Now, that this Papa Bear is working again, I may actually get my camp back."

Hogan smiled. Somebody had pulled a miracle out of his hat.

"You either have it or you haven't," he agreed and thought about somebody else than Klink.

* * *

Kinch and Olsen followed the line to the shower. They still didn't have a plan how to talk to the Serbians without having the German eavesdropping.

It was day seven and Kinch started to worry.

"We need to get back to Stalag XIII," Olsen echoed his unvoiced thoughts. "This silence is the proof Hochstetter needs."

"I know," Kinch whispered back. "Ideas?"

"I don't think we can play long enough flyball for you to talk to Sergeant Krawinitz. And writing letters is too dangerous in case the German intercept even one single paper."

Kinch nodded in agreement.

Suddenly Stone's voice could be heard. Cursing.

With a deep sigh, Kinch left the line. Everybody let him through, his leadership was undisputed despite the strange decisions.

"What's going on?"

Stone kicked against the wall. "Do you hear this?"

A gurgling sound came from the ceiling and beneath the wall.

"What is it?"

"It's your friends, the Serbs, stealing our water."

Kinch raised an eyebrow.

"We can hear if they use water and if they empty the supply that's in the pipe, we either get nothing or brown water," Bird explained.

If Koehler wouldn't work for the enemy, Kinch would offer him a few congratulations and maybe try to hire him. He was good at was he was doing. Red cross packages and water, proven distractions that would work.

The same gurgling sound chimed again. It reminded Kinch of a telephone line with interference on it.

He paused.

Stretching, Kinch found out that he could touch the pipe in the ceiling. "You say the Serbians are connected to the same pipe?"

Olsen entered the shower section of the wash room in silent support.

"Yes."

Kinch grinned. "Then I need a spoon."

"A spoon?"

Not only Stone, but also everybody else not used Colonel Hogan's brand of craziness, stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Yes, your spoon."

"Do you want to measure the water in spoons or what?"

Kinch's smile froze. "I could also ask for a tool, a knife or a fork, but seeing as you only have a metal spoon, I have to settle for this."

Olsen crossed his arms. "We just need a hard metal tool. The spoon you carry around would work perfectly," he explained.

Still regarding him confused, Stone got his stolen spoon and handed it Kinch.

"Thank you."

Reaching high, Kinch start to hit the pipes. The echo traveled across the room. Slowly and methodical, he repeated his work.

"What are you doing?" Stone asked.

Olsen was the first to go from confused to grinning. "Morse Code. You don't need electricity to Morse and this way, no Germans are going to listen in."

Bird laughed. "That's great."

"Only if they answer," Kinch damped his enthusiasm.

Before anybody could voice other doubts, the pipe echoed the answer.

Half an hour later, the shower room was used as an improvised command section.

He could talk to the senior Serbian enlisted man: Sergeant Kilovich. Both men, Kilovich and Krawinitz spoke French.

As educated men, they were firm in the Cyrillic and Latin letters and could easily write French.

Several words, Kinch had to guess but the meaning was pretty clear. They hadn't stolen the Red Cross packages.

More difficult it was to explain that they knew about their tunnel. Their reaction to this part of news exchange was a prolonged silence.

Writing Morse code with his arms raised high, Kinch needed the pause but the worry about their reaction drove him almost across the camp to the Serbians.

The longer the pipes remained silent, the more worried Kinch became.

"We need to leave and get outside or we risk raising suspicion." Olsen finally said.

Outside, everybody stalked around and watched the other side. The Serbians were also visible around, except Krawinitz and Kilovich. Kinch couldn't detect them on the other side of the invisible line.

"Do you think they'll destroy their tunnel," Olsen repeated his question. He was as tense as Kinch.

"I hope not. We need it, or we will never get back in time to help Colonel Hogan."

Finally, Bird spotted Kilovich. The Serbian pointed to the washroom.

With Olsen and Bird arranging a distraction, Kinch returned to his difficult negotiations.

Relieved, he translated the first message. They appreciated that the 'new leadership' hadn't ratted them out. And they hadn't destroyed their tunnel yet.

Kinch used the time to make his offer: one of each group uses their tunnel to flee. The Americans would provide the knowledge about the area and underground while the Serbians were providing the tunnel.

He relaxed his arms from the strenuous position and started to pace while waiting for an answer.

He didn't need to wait long. The answer was a clear and fast: 'o-u-i'

Yes.

* * *

It was the next evening, and Carter still felt bad about his performance in class.

They all lingered in the group room where the adjourning two men rooms had been set up. Second Lieutenant Cycle, their almost historian, had suggested that this had been built as rooms for the staff and maybe the soldiers.

Carter paced through the room and apologized again. "Really, I am too stupid for this war," he said.

Collins sat on the window seat. "Don't feel bad for not understanding Nazi ideology. It makes you a better man."

Carter shrugged. It was nice to be praised for not understanding them, but he'd still rather understood it, so he could avoid being shot.

After making sure that no guard were in hearing range, Major Cliff came over and patted him on the back. "You're not too stupid. Maybe too naive, too good or too nice but not too stupid."

"You got almost shot because of me."

"Nah," Collins shook his head and pushed away from the window, "we almost got shot because the Nazi are stupid and they fail to recognize their own stupidity. You just have said it as it is."

Carter shrugged, but his smile got a little lighter and brighter. "I'm not made for this war."

"Nobody is made for this war, and everybody who is made for this war shouldn't be fighting it." Major Cliff said and then returned to the desk. On it lay the required reading material: Goethe. "Did anybody read this already?"

Collins laughed. "Sir, you're confusing us with officers. We work and don't read for fun." Even the other officers in the room laughed.

With a smile, the major grabbed the book and opened it. "I guess somebody has to read it and then tell you about it."

Before he could start to read, Major Chester stepped behind Carter. He was the second major, lighting the Nazi's inability to ensure the participation of higher ranking officers for their program. Apparently they feared that they wouldn't get away with their lie in higher ranks.

"Did you know that you can pass as a German?" Chester asked.

"Sure boy, I mean, sir," Carter said.

One of the enlisted man leaned against the door, sealing the key hole.

"Chester?" Major Cliff packed a lot of different questions into the name. Carter had seen Colonel Hogan do this and it also seemed to work for Major Cliff.

"We're clear. The last microphone suffered an irreparable water damage. Too bad."

Carter looked around the room: white walls, curtain-less windows, wooden chairs, a desk with books and a table with a basin of water. There was nothing more and yet the atmosphere had changed. He was tempted to ask what was going on but before he could put his plan into practice, Major Cliff beat him with his question: "Sergeant Carter, do you speak German by any chance?"

"Jawohl," Carter answered without thinking. "I mean, yes, I do."

Now he had the full attention of the room. "Did you ever wear a German uniform?"

"All the time."

At the raised eyebrow of the major, Carter added hastily. "I mean, whenever Colonel Hogan needed a distraction."

Cliff smirked and put down the book. He had found a more interesting subject. "I'm beginning to like this Colonel Hogan. He clearly sees your potential."

"My potential?"

"Most people need to work hard to distract somebody else. For you it just comes natural. You don't even need to think about what you're going to say. You just start talking and off you go."

Carter put his hands into his jacket. "Newkirk usually tells me to shut up. Actually a lot of people always tell me to shut up." He nodded to himself.

His statement was met with silence. Apparently, Newkirk wasn't the only one thinking that. But still Carter wished he would be here. He would know what to do. Carter looked away as he wondered what had happened to him and the other men from Stalag XIII.

"So, what did you do in a German uniform?" Collins leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, interrupting his depressing thoughts.

"Oh, not much, usually I was just shouting orders to distract them."

Cliff glanced to Chester and raised his chin in question. On the receiving nod, Major Cliff stood up and straightened. "Let's see if our uniform fits you."

"You have a German uniform?" Finally, Carter understood the strange atmosphere. He was up for his American and loyal test. Hopefully he wouldn't mess this up. He swallowed hard. "How did you get one?"

"Completely legal," Collins reported. Then he went to the wall and started to remove some stone. "And stolen," he added with a dark smile as he pulled out a full uniform from behind the wall where an unexpected hollow space was located.

For being stolen, it fit well and Carter took a few steps around in it.

"So, what's the plan?"

Major Cliff crossed his arms. "Now that we have a man speaking German and a fitting uniform ..." he trailed off.

Carter stalked across the room trying to inspire the major into a good plan. His own plans usually involved a lot of explosions, or were rated ill-advised by his friends. Colonel Hogan would have a plan and even LeBeau would have been out of here by now. This much material and things to work with, and Carter couldn't think of a single good plan. He wasn't made for this war. Or any war for that matter.

Suddenly footsteps were nearing. The man at the door paled.

The door knob in his back rattled.

"Guards!" he whispered.

But it was too late, the door knob turned already and door was being pushed open.

He couldn't hold it closed for long.

Three parts of a uniform couldn't be undressed fast enough. With a look of panic, Carter stared at Major Cliff.

He remained with his back to the door.

Finally, the door opened completely. "Lights -" The German guard jerked to halt as he saw the German uniform.

Major Cliff faced Carter and the door. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Carter raised his chin, took a deep breath and turned on his heel in perfect military precision.

"Finally!" He said in German, "What kind of prison camp do you run? As an inspector for the prisoner camp safety I have never met such an incompetent ran camp," he sneered. "Do you believe that a prisoner camp is especially safe if I can come and go as I please? Is this how you want to impress the glorious Third Reich?"

The guard snapped to attention while his fellow prisoners stared at him with open mouths.

"What are you waiting for! I need to talk to the commandant or better yet, I am returning to Berlin and give my report in person. If your commandant is not right here in a minute before I leave he can start packing for the Russian Front!"

Almost tripping over his own feet, the guard ran to get Colonel Klass.

For a moment everybody remained still, frozen in surprise. Then the spell lifted and the men jumped in action. Howling in silent laughter, Collins closed the door.

"And now?" Carter looked unsure to Major Cliff. Nothing remained of his overconfident body language.

"Get out of the uniform." With help, he shed the clothes in record time.

"Lay down in your room. We're telling them that you have a headache. If they question you, just pretend to be confused."

"What?" Carter looked up, confused

With a smile, Cliff nodded. "Like that."

Carter hurried to his room. He had closed the door and lain down on the floor with his bedding, as he heard the sound of steel boots running up the old stone steps.

Hopefully, Major Cliff could talk as good as Colonel Hogan.

* * *

 _TBC_


	9. Day Eight

_Special thanks to_ ** _Sapphire363_** _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, guest, for your review. Thanks for all favs and follows. Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY EIGHT**

* * *

Kinch stood in the full sun and pretended that it didn't hurt. They were standing in roll call since early morning.

Sergeant Koehler had come out himself to recount the men. But there was no mistake – two were missing.

The American and Serbian side had kept it up, nobody looked at each other and they didn't even give a small inkling that they had talked.

"How long are we going to have to stand here?" Bird asked. His skin looked already red and burnt. Looking further down the line, Kinch saw several men hurting far more than he did.

"Sergeant Koehler can't lose." Kinch sighed as he realized something important. "If we want to reduce the time, we need to start looking miserable and not brave."

"What?" Stone hissed pretending not to sway in place.

"You heard me. As a leader you need to know when to stick to your pride and when to swallow it for the greater good. Sergeant Koehler needs to feel like a winner despite losing two prisoners."

The moment Koehler appeared, Kinch started to look miserable with downcast eyes. Stalag XIII men were used a lot of things, they followed his lead without a second thought. With Koehler in hearing distance, Kinch added another motivation: "I almost wished Sergeant Schultz back. He was the meanest guard around but he never needed to let us stand in the sun. His ways were more creative."

It didn't take long for their little ruse to succeed and everybody could flee from the hot sun.

Kinch grabbed Stone at the sleeve. "A word, sergeant."

Together, they went into a barracks and to a far corner.

"Koehler is a manipulative bastard." Kinch started, his voice low but intensive. "If everything goes according to plan, he is already preparing our transfer papers because we are a threat to his games and ego."

Stone nodded.

"This means, in a few days or hours, you need to lead these men."

"I-"

"Listen, listen. As long as Koehler runs this camp, he will thwart any command structure. And so it falls on your shoulder. You are a natural leader and whether you want it or not, it's time to lead."

Shaking his head, Stone looked down. "I don't trust these Serbs and this is the leadership you want me to do."

Kinch smirked. "See, you learn fast. You need to learn fast because I'm only going to tell you once." He waited until he had Stone's full attention. "United we stand, divided we fall. As long as you allow Koehler to divide this camp, we fall."

"You don't know them as good as I do," Stone argued.

"Your prejudice is showing," Kinch said. "You can easily stop: one rotten apple doesn't mean that the whole tree is useless and rotten. One stupid German guard, doesn't make the Germans stupid. If everybody would be like Klink, there wouldn't even be a war. I know Americans who defected to the Third Reich. Does this mean every American is a Nazi or defector?"

"This isn't the same."

Kinch made a grimace. "No? You mean just because I met one American who was willing to give up a working tunnel in retaliation and anger, it doesn't mean that every American is a threat to the allied war effort?"

Stone pressed his teeth together. It seemed as it finally sunk in. "What do you want me to do?"

Kinch leaned back and took a deep breath. "Get yourself a man who speaks French and somebody who knows Morse code. Continue as before but talk to the Serbs through the pipes. And don't ever, ever again think or threat to rat them out to the Germans. It's better that all of them flee and leave you behind than if you continue to hinder our fight by helping the Germans."

Stone looked down, drawing circles on the floor with the tip of his left boot.

Then he nodded and looked up to Kinch. "And you? How do you -?"

Smirking, Kinch started to walk back to the main part of the barracks. "Olsen is going to arrange a little meet and greet with the Underground."

"How do you know that Krawinitz has stuck to the plan?"

"I don't, but it is his best option." Kinch faced Stone. "You don't need to trust them. Create an environment where the best for you is the best for them and don't cross them. Everything else is out of your hands."

Kinch knew that his words were just guidelines. Colonel Hogan was a man capable of fighting Sergeant Koehler, not Stone. But there was nobody else around.

He put a hand on Stone's shoulder. "Nobody expects you to marry their sister, or lend or borrow money. You're just supposed to use them to ensure that you and your men survive this POW camp. And in a few years you both go home. You have to assume that they don't want anything else. Don't bother with anything else."

Stone smirked. "You never do or ask for anything half, right?"

"What do you think?" Kinch shot back. His actions were an answer enough.

* * *

Newkirk took a deep breath and knocked against the door to barracks 2. He had never needed knocking but this time Major Norris had sent for him. After the unexpected disappearance and failure to reappear from Sergeant Baker, the atmosphere had became icy and strained.

"Come in."

Newkirk opened the door and entered. He pretend to follow military protocol but after five days getting to know him, not even Major Norris expected anything like perfect conduct form from him anymore. After years as POW he was the lesson how not to end up.

"Reporting as ordered?" Newkirk made a question out of the statement.

Lieutenant Nash snorted. "At ease. And it's statement without question mark and you stand at attention for it." He rubbed at his neck. "Who exactly ran this camp before we came? How could you forget everything?"

"Oh, beggin' your pardon, I didn't forget everything. I just had to learn so much new stuff, how the German run everything and so on. I get confused about the different armies."

Major Norris stepped away from the table, his right thumb pointing to the table. "Does this say anything to you?"

On the top of the table lay Carter's gloves, neatly folded.

For a moment, Newkirk didn't dare to breath. It could mean a lot of different things. "Where did you find them?"

"They were on the table after morning roll call."

The hope in his chest tumbled down. Not Carter, only Baker.

"And?" Nash prompted with impatience in his voice.

"They belong to Sergeant Carter." Newkirk used present tense and would never change it unless he was shown a body. "He also lived here in barracks 2."

Newkirk fell silent. He took the gloves. The leather was frangible with use. But they still smelled like Carter, the odd mix between leather, explosives, chemicals and dubbin he used to preserve them.

Norris coughed, then he crossed his arms. "Corporal, I understand that this is difficult for you. But I am running out of patience. What is going on here?"

Newkirk looked carefully the gloves over. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and yet he was sure that this was signal from Sergeant Baker. But he didn't know this man. With LeBeau or Kinch this wouldn't have been a problem. He would have understood them.

Then he saw it. There was dirt on the fingertip as if they had been used to dig — to dig a tunnel.

"Corporal?" Major Norris prompted.

"It's the time frame, sir," Newkirk said. "Just days before we made our big escape, everybody's gone." He looked down and then up to the open face of Major Norris. "This stinks like a traitor. It's like they knew we were almost done."

Norris nodded. "I can't guarantee you there isn't a German spy around here. I don't know most of these men better than you do. But the summer is our best bet for an escape and if you know any plan that still can be used, it would help."

Newkirk took a deep breath. Fixing the price in his head he wanted to achieve, Newkirk started to sell his story to an unsuspecting American Major. "Colonel Hogan gave us all independent work. He was the only one who knew everything."

"And your job was the papers." Lieutenant Nash stroke through his blond hair, reminding everybody again that he needed to get a haircut, preferable before returning to London.

"Yes," Newkirk affirmed. Then he looked at the gloves. "Sergeant Carter's job was the tunnel." He held up the gloves. "I guess it's a signal that they now reappear."

Nobody comment on the strange comment, believing him a little lost after all the years and stress.

"Do you have any idea where the tunnel could be?"

Newkirk looked down at the gloves in his hand. If he was wrong, his life and everybody associated with it, was in the hand of an American officer he didn't even know.

He put the gloves down on the table and raised his gaze to meet Major Norris'. "Yes, I do."

* * *

For the first time in days, LeBeau stood in the sun and enjoyed its brightness. It was still hot but he had missed it.

Some of less sick men sat outside in the shadow of the barracks. They needed some fresh air, even for just a few minutes. The infirmary building smelled like cheap alcohol, fever and sickness.

A shadow took away his sun. Sighing, he opened his eyes. Lieutenant Leonard stood in front of him.

The cut above his eye was still an angry red line. It didn't heal as fast as possible but he didn't seem too sick.

"Thanks."

LeBeau nodded. It was time to get back to business at hand. He leaned forward and whispered: "How did you get away?"

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "You are not thinking about escaping, are you?"

He took a deep breath. The smell of drying elderflowers lay heavily in the air. "Why not?"

"We need you! Without you Lincoln would have died." He paused, then he repeated his most important point. "We need you!"

LeBeau crossed his arms. "Lieutenant Lincoln is better. I can't do anything else for him and I have places I need to be."

Leonard snorted. "I hope these places are more important than our lives."

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Don't be melodramatic. You'll be fine. The camp is almost built and then -"

"We're still not getting enough food."

Sighing, LeBeau refused to answer. There wasn't anything to say to this. Without their supply drops from London and their tunnel, Stalag XIII would face the same hurdles.

"Lincoln told me," Leonard continued, "that Colonel Lowe offered to improve our food. But you said no."

The angry scowl destroyed the last remains of LeBeau's good mood. "I said I can't help."

"But you can." It was more an accusation than a statement. "You could make this water soup eatable and even add nourishment."

It was too hot to stay in the sun, LeBeau turned to leave.

Leonard blocked his way. "Why do you refuse to help? Is cooking not manly enough for you?"

LeBeau spun around. He angrily hit Leonard's uniform with his index finger. "I've cooked all the time in this war. I offered my expertise and knowledge for the allied course and greatness of France!" He hissed.

"But not to improve our lives." The lieutenant leaned forward, entering LeBeau's personal space without hesitation. LeBeau was glad that he would never be hit by the strength behind Leonard's stance, not as long as his friend was sick.

LeBeau bit lips, his hands balled into fists. "I refuse to cook for the Germans. I did this often enough. Now it isn't necessary."

Leonard jerked back. "We're supposed to suffer, so the Germans may suffer too, right?"

"If I cook for you all, they will win the most. The better the food, the better they guard and the less likely you'll manage to escape."

Shaking his head, Leonard rubbed across his face. "I hear you. But we won't be able to escape or even survive without better food. If we get sick or die of hunger the Germans won't even need guards. If we can't run the few meters to the forest line, what does it matter if the Germans are fit or not?"

"I won't help the Germans!" LeBeau insisted.

"We're not asking you to help the Germans," a new voice said behind them.

LeBeau whirled around. He had missed the new approach. He was slopping.

Major Land stepped out of the door.

"If your desire to hurt their war effort outweigh your desire to ensure our health, then don't cook. Don't use your knowledge about the local flora and fauna and everything that you've learned in your childhood and youth. But are you sure that it's worth it?"

Scowling, LeBeau recognized that he was trapped. "If I help, they -"

"It's not about them, it's about us. If you help, we will still be alive for the time of liberation. If you cook, you'll help them. That's right. But remember, you'll help us even more. It's your decision."

LeBeau crossed his arms. His lips were pressed into a small line. He took it back, Major Land was a match to Colonel Hogan. At least if it's about making him feel guilty.

And forcing him to cook, he added for himself and sighed deeply again.

* * *

 _TBC_


	10. Day Nine

_Special thanks to **Sapphire363** for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _ **Roemerschanze** posted her great artwork for the fic: roemerschanze. tumblr(.com) / tagged / hhbigbang2017. Thank you!_

 _Thank you for reading!_

* * *

 **DAY NINE**

* * *

"I guess now it's not going to take long. We need to say goodbye." Stone held out his hand. "Good luck."

Kinch grabbed the offered hand while glancing around. "Thanks, we are going to need luck."

They had laid out their net and now he had to hope that everybody would act as expected. He had never known that Colonel Hogan's job not only entailed making the plan but also waiting for it to work.

 _"Don't worry, your plan is almost as good as any of the Colonel's plans,"_ Olsen had assured him before he had left in the dark of the night. _"Don't worry."_

"I am not worried," Kinch argued quietly with himself.

"Of course, you're not worried." Private Keller said, waiting next to him. "You just look like you're worried."

Kinch chuckled.

But after planning, replanning and checking it again, the waiting part was worrisome. So many things could go wrong. He had tried to have some emergency plans, but the latest debacle in Stalag XIII had taught him that there was always going to be one option that he hadn't considered.

Suddenly, the relaxed atmosphere changed.

"Here comes Koehler," Stone warned.

Kinch was tempted to repeat some of his short and fast leadership lessons he had tried to teach Stone, but it was too late for this now. He had to entrust the camp and the tender partnership with the Serbians into the hands of Sergeant Kilovich and Sergeant Stone.

They hadn't had the chance to talk face to face yet. And maybe they would never be able to. But as long as they communicated, even if it was through French and pipes, it could make the difference.

Koehler stormed into the camp with an unreasonable amount of additional guards.

Keller smirked. "Going by the numbers, we left an impression."

Kinch crossed his arms. He would have preferred less of an impression and more results.

"Roll call!"

The guards started to bring everyone together for a special formation.

"Roll call!"

"Does he hope we have found two new prisoners just to please him?" Bird asked in jest.

With Hogan and Stalag XIII this would have been an option and Kinch needed too long to answer.

"We didn't, did we?"

"No," Kinch denied, "no, this time we need a real escape."

"Silence," Koehler's shout drowned out the last whispers.

The camp quieted down, only the insects refused to follow his orders and continued their open-air concert.

"In the last few days," Koehler started, "there have been some disturbances in this camp." He paused for effect. "We cannot have this and so the commandant has left orders to remove the troublemakers."

Kinch had a hard time hiding his grin.

"The following men step forward. They will be transferred!"

Kinch held his breath. It was now or it would be too late. If his plan failed, Colonel Hogan and Papa Bear would be history.

"Sergeant James Kinchloe."

With a deep sigh of relief and a mask of disappointment and fear, Kinch stepped forward.

As predicated, Koehler called out everybody just transferred from Stalag XIII.

Two hours later, Kinch climbed back on a truck. It shouldn't take long to find the road block sat up by the underground. Olsen was too well-connected to fail finding enough men.

Kinch kept the smile to himself. It was actually working.

* * *

Carter enjoyed a brisk walk in the yard of the Burgschloss.

It was far easier than anticipated to get away with their little scheme and the German uniform. Colonel Klass assumed that the halting explanation and a lot of non-information from the prisoners were done in hope to have him transferred.

Carter stopped near Sergeant Graf, the nice guard from his first day.

Graf glanced to his left. He hesitated before he asked: "Do you need something?"

"We were just wondering whether Colonel Klass is still the commandant or not."

The German shrugged. "Nobody really knows."

Carter nodded with a serious face. "Did you find the inspector?"

Graf smiled. "No, and nobody wants to call Berlin to ask."

Carter rested his foot on a loose stone in the wall. "Aren't you curious how the inspector got in and out again?"

"We know."

Shocked, Carter frowned. "You know?"

"Sure, he used one of the hidden passages. I told you this Burgschloss had some. They probably know them in Berlin or he looked it up somewhere."

Staring at Carter, Sergeant Graf hesitated again for a moment. "You were really asleep and haven't seen anything? I would love to find this hidden passage. It would be great for my grandfather."

"I haven't seen anything." Carter turned to go. "I had a stomach ache," he shook his head, "no, I mean I had a headache."

He left the confused German sergeant behind and hurried away.

It was this easy acceptance of the hidden passage that had the prisoners searching for it.

"How shall we find it, if not even the German can find it?" Major Chester asked the room at large. "We shouldn't waste our time with looking for something that doesn't exist."

"With all due respect, this is wrong," Second Lieutenant Cycle, their almost historian, argued. "This castle is built to withstand everything thrown at it. But did you ever look at it from a military strategy viewpoint? How would you take it?"

"Aircraft," Collins said simply.

Sighing, Cycle rolled his eyes. "It was built before there were aircraft."

Collins thought for a moment and then declared: "Burn it down."

"If the ditch is filled with water you're going to have a hard time setting it on fire. The nearest wood isn't relevant for the structural safety of this building."

Carter nodded to himself. "I would starve it. If they couldn't get out and we can't get in, no food will get in. If I had the time, I would starve it."

"Exactly." Cycle clapped his left hand in his right, startling the rest of the men.

"Exactly what?"

"This was exactly what the builders had feared. They had supplies but if your opponent was willing to wait, you were sitting ducks." Cycle explained.

"And that's why there are hidden passages?" Sergeant Collins concluded.

"A lot of buildings from this time period have them."

"Are you sure about this?" Major Chester asked.

"I was studying European history before I volunteered. Bergfried and castles always were my favorite parts."

Major Cliff strolled over. "Where do you think the tunnel starts or ends?"

With a grin, Cycle leaned back. "They usual end in the woods around the castle, so a messenger can go and come virtually unseen."

"Good, good. And how do we find it?"

"I've been thinking about the German's lack of success. And I think I know where it starts."

Now Second Lieutenant Cycle had undivided attention. He paused to raise the suspense. "Right below us."

"What?"

Nodding, Cycle explained. "The German have searched the whole castle, our rooms and everything and so have we. Did anybody from you ever managed to find the room below us?"

Carter shook his head. Slowly everybody in the room denied the question.

"Why would they build a room without a door?"

"It's not necessarily without a door. Maybe it once had one or the entrance is hidden."

A small smile appeared on Major Cliff's face. "I guess we are going to find a nice way for the good bed covers the Germans have donated to us."

"Sir?" Collins asked.

"It's useless trying to rappel down. We're far too high to reach the ground safely." Major Cliff explained. "But if we are just trying to get below us, we wouldn't even be visible from somewhere else."

"Thanks Sergeant Carter," Cliff clapped him on the back. "Great working with your inspector."

Carter started to grin as everybody else started to work. His grin faded and he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Ahem, do we have a plan now?"

* * *

LeBeau glanced up from his work. The knife remained half in the air, waiting for another cut of the English Plantain.

Lieutenant Lincoln felt the worried gaze and looked up. "I'm fine."

Snorting, LeBeau returned to his work. "Of course, you're fine. Shaking like leaf is the new normal. Americans!"

His chopping added another beat to the sound already made by the hammers outside.

Lincoln continued to peel the few potatoes they had. In the tempo he worked, LeBeau would need to wait for him or overtake for him. But at least he could stay upright again. The damp air from the cooking was calming his coughing.

Colonel Lowe had offered to add the food reserved for the Germans to the mix, if LeBeau used his cooking knowledge to create better food. Of course, he made sure that his men got more of the soup but they all agreed that LeBeau's work was paying off.

It was a good thing that France wasn't so far away and they shared a lot of plants.

Suddenly, Lincoln halted in his work.

LeBeau stopped when he saw his face. "What?"

Lincoln looked straight behind LeBeau, out of the door.

"Colonel Lowe is coming. This isn't good."

It wasn't unexpected. Lowe appeared often times a day to check or to make sure that he wouldn't kill them all. He took a big risk by allowing LeBeau to cook for all.

"Corporal LeBeau?" The lieutenant colonel entered the barracks used as a kitchen with long strikes. "You need to pack your things."

"What?"

"Nazi-General Lauterbach has called and left orders to bring you to him."

Confused, LeBeau looked from Lincoln to the colonel. "Who?"

"That's what I'd thought," Lowe took a deep breath. "He is an important man from Berlin who residence currently around here. You were recommended and now he wants you."

"I'm not-"

"Listen, Corporal LeBeau, I understand that there's a war going on. But with General Lauterbach there is no honor. He won't accept a no. Any refusal is going to be met with the Nazi answer that prevents anybody from ever raising their voice again. It's not that Germany doesn't have decent people. It's that Germany has as many decent but fearful men as it has powerful and fearless men."

LeBeau took the spoon and continue to stir, his thoughts swirling like the soup in the pot.

Colonel Klink would do something like this. But maybe the recommendation had come from Colonel Hogan and he waited for him there.

Either way, he had already decided to help the POWs in this camp. He knew what kind of answer a Nazi general would give. He couldn't condemn the men to their death.

Drying his hands on the towel, he tried to explain what needed to be done to finish this soup. "You need to add the English Plantain and then continue to cook. Try to grind the potatoes as small as possible. And ..." LeBeau stopped. He couldn't explain it in a few minutes.

Lincoln gave him a small and tired smile. Then he gave him a single nod.

"Stay alive," Lincoln said as goodbye.

* * *

 _TBC_


	11. Day Ten

_Special thanks to_ ** _Sapphire363_** _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, **guest,** for your review! Thanks for the follows and adding this story to your favorites.  
_

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY TEN**

* * *

Newkirk stirred. Something had awoken him. In the dark, he needed a moment to understand the raised voices and hear barking dogs.

"Roll call." The voice of the guard carried through the thin wall.

It was time for the truth. Either the escape was successful or they had been made.

After Newkirk had declared himself unfit to leave right now, Major Norris had chosen a few men, twenty all in all, to use one of their auxiliary tunnels as escape route.

Newkirk had even thrown in his talent for forging papers. Together with the clothes Sergeant Baker had stashed in the tunnel, they had every chance for success.

The door was pushed open. "Roll call. Everybody out."

If Schultz was angry he could be impressive, but his angry voice was nothing compared to their new Germans guards. Newkirk didn't know why they even needed guns, they shot their words like a machine gun.

"Out. Out. Out."

It even sounded like a gun: pang, pang, pang!

Grabbing the borrowed jacket from an American bomber pilot, he stumbled outside.

The men grumbled and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed.

"Are you regretting already that you stayed behind?" Private Jones asked. He fell in line to his left.

Smirking, Newkirk shock his head. "I'd rather stay here a little longer until the last has left."

He received a strange look but Newkirk just shrugged and focused on his surroundings.

The whole yard was brightly lit. Around the gate a lot of German soldiers received their instruction and then left with their dogs. It wasn't his job to keep the dogs in their favor but Newkirk was pretty sure, that a German Shepard was above suspicion to be Papa Bear and so these dogs were, beside himself, the last ones of the original crew. He could count on them.

"Wow, we got out a lot," Jones said.

Newkirk nodded. A proud smile appeared on his lips.

In front of every barrack a small amount of men stood in a roll call. Newkirk could only remember one incident where they had similar small numbers to put out in a roll call. Then they had had to keep a whole company busy.

The damage was extensive. Not one line of roll call was complete. And everybody looked surprised and tired. Pretending to be harshly awoken from the guards and not having been praying and hoping the whole night that this would work.

He'd never forget the shout of joy and compliments that he had gotten for a simple auxiliary tunnel.

"Your Colonel Hogan really knew how to plan an escape."

A little remorseful, Newkirk could only give a jerky nod. "The gov'nor knew his stuff. He wasn't even so bad for an officer."

The washing sink in Barracks 2 had become the entry to freedom and even Lieutenant Nash had forgiven him for his unannounced visits in barracks 2.

"Do you think our guys have a good enough head start?"

"It should be enough," he reassured him. Actually, Newkirk had hoped for more time between escape and detection but this was probably the best they could achieve with the competent part of the Germans guards.

Newkirk glanced across the compound and froze.

In the bright light of their search lights, Newkirk saw him. Sergeant Baker. In front of barracks 2, he stood right behind Major Norris and Lieutenant Nash. He wouldn't have seen him if not for the surprised glances of the officers.

"What are you doing here!"

The loud voice of the sergeant of the guards carried across from barracks 2 to barracks 4.

"I am attending roll call," Baker answered with a perfectly innocent expression. "Like ordered."

Newkirk smirked despite the worry he felt. Too bad that Papa Bear was history. Baker would have been a good addition. But now he could only be a good help in organizing the mass escape.

"You are missing."

"No, sir, I am here."

The German sergeant narrowed his eyes.

Newkirk called out. "He has been over there the whole time. Don't know why kept insisting he had escaped!"

Norris glared over his shoulder. But his glare lost a lot of heat in his confusion. Newkirk had never bothered to correct the impression that Baker had found the tunnel and escaped. Alone.

A lot of the men around the camp added their voice in agreement that he had been the whole time in roll call for barracks 2.

Finally, the German had enough. He pointed with an outstretched arm to barracks 4. "You belong over there. Get back!"

Baker raised his hands in a peace offer and strolled over.

As he caught Newkirk's questioning glare, he leaned forward and whispered: "Greetings from Sergeant Kinchloe. He scared me half to death when he suddenly turned up."

Now Newkirk laughed and then had to hide it behind a cough. If Kinch was back, the German would never find the escaped men. Somehow Kinch would think of something, maybe a guide to the next starting point in the travel route or he hid them in the main tunnel.

The renewed glare of Lieutenant Nash, Newkirk answered with a bright smile. With Kinch back, it was time to introduce the new senior officers how things were done at Stalag XIII for their little time remaining here.

Maybe Kinch even knew how to get their friends back and just what exactly had happened.

Until then, he would enjoy the show.

Germans running around like chickens in a cage trying to find an egg that was long gone.

* * *

LeBeau followed the old woman showing him the way through the pantry. Somehow she had guessed rightly that he was French.

" _Voici, les légumes et les pommes de terre._ " She pointed with crooked finger at a shelf with her swollen knuckles. It was easy to see why she couldn't cook anymore.

Silently, he followed the old woman as she walked slowly with her cane.

The house and its occupant were exactly as he had imaged them. There weren't any nice bouquets or drawings. He only found blank space, or worse: the Swastika was the only decorative symbol; everything was black and red and white.

Black like their heart and souls, white like their skins and red like the blood they liked to shed.

'Stay alive!'

LeBeau remembered Lieutenant Lincoln's last words over and over again.

'Stay alive!'

It hadn't been a wish, it had been an order. Lincoln had asked him to stay alive by not doing what he was tempted to do. A little few too many berries, some raw leaves of this or that, and it wouldn't take long for another important Nazi to go his way to Valhalla.

Of course, he would be shot just because, but maybe, just maybe it was worth it.

" _Voici, la cuisine_ ," the old lady said in broken French. " _S'il vous plaît._ "

" _Merci_ ," LeBeau answered in a monotone voice.

Her withered face still showed a small smile. " _J'ai aimé Paris et je suis désolée..._ " With misty eyes, she broke off.

Then she looked around trying to spot one of the guards or other people milling around.

Two SS guards watched the passage and door to the kitchen. But in a good moment, she pulled out a big key from under of her enormous apron. " _Pour la porte de la forêt._ "

LeBeau's eyes widened, but he recovered fast and grabbed the key. " _Merci_ ," he repeated and this time he meant it. If he had understood her correctly, she had handed him a key to leave the house. Undetected.

Before he could say something else, another person entered the house. Heavy steps implied a big man nearing the kitchen.

LeBeau hid the key as fast as possible.

"Where is -" a voice said as the man turned to the kitchen.

He recognized him instantly. "Schultz!"

"- the little cockroach." Schultz finished first, then he smiled at LeBeau.

The old lady slipped away, leaving LeBeau behind without ever saying her name.

"I was worried that the general would not take my recommendation. Then I would be dead or at the Russian front." He frowned as he thought over his last statement. "But this is the same as dead."

He remained standing in front of the kitchen door.

LeBeau narrowed his eyes. Neither Klink nor Colonel Hogan, but Schultz was responsible for his plight. His jaw line build an angry line. LeBeau marched straight towards Schultz and grabbed the door. Schultz yielded and jumped aside in surprise. "LeBeau..."

"I need to cook," LeBeau growled and shut the door with as much force as he dared.

The door fell shut behind him with a loud bang. For the first time in days, LeBeau was alone, alone in a room with four walls.

He took a deep breath and tried to decide if he ran now, waited for the old lady to leave the premise completely or screamed on top of his voice.

"LeBeau," Schultz carefully pushed his mass into the kitchen. On his face, his remorse and hurt drew lines around his eyes and on his forehead. "I ... I heard about the new camp and how many of the prisoner got sick and -"

"Decided you needed more strudel?" LeBeau crossed his arms. "Because you're not big enough already?"

Schultz shook his head in denial. "No, I-"

LeBeau wasn't in the mood, but he needed some information only Schultz could provide. "Where's Colonel Hogan?"

"With General Burkhalter."

"Shouldn't you be on guard duty in Stalag XIII?"

Schultz heaved a sigh. "There is no Stalag XIII anymore."

A sensation like ice-cold water ran down his spine. "What?"

"Everybody is gone. I tried to make sure that you and the boys all get good places but there was no time."

"No, no, no." LeBeau's heart started to pump furiously. Not even a kiss from Marya could dump so much adrenaline in his body as this innocent sounding sentence. "What do you mean there is no Stalag XIII anymore?"

Schultz sat down and leaned his gun against the wall. "Major Hochstetter is trying to find this Papa Bear and he thinks his headquarter is in Stalag XIII. So General Burkhalter had everybody removed and ..." he trailed off.

"And what?" LeBeau prompted. Peter, Andrew and Kinch, they all had been still in the camp as he had left. If they weren't there anymore, LeBeau didn't want to finish this thought.

"... I know nothing."

"Schultz! Please tell me, where are they?"

"I do not know. I just know that if there are no activities from Papa Bear in the next few days, Hochstetter is allowed to interrogate Colonel Klink and Colonel Hogan." Schultz shuddered. He knew that nobody would return from this interrogation.

LeBeau slumped down next to Schultz. He had wasted valuable time trying to help. He should have stuck to the plan. The guilt squashed his chest like a vise. The knowledge that he hadn't known did not relieve the pressure.

"... and so I ended up here," Schultz ended his tale and sighed again.

LeBeau hadn't listened and didn't care. Schultz had messed up, if he hadn't sent him away on one of the first trucks, he would have known. And then, then … LeBeau balled his fists.

Guilt was easily transferred to anger, LeBeau tensed up and straightened. He would -

The sudden opening of the kitchen door interrupted his dark thoughts. One of the SS-guards entered the kitchen. "Why haven't you started already? The general wants to eat soon."

LeBeau opened his mouth, but Schultz beat him in an answer. "I was just telling the corporal what the General likes and what he does not like."

"It doesn't matter. If your cook isn't capable to deliver, you can always transfer to the Russian front and we shoot him. There are enough prisoners if we need a new one. We don't have time for twiddling. Tomorrow, the other generals will arrive and then they are going to plan how to retake France. And it's going to be a great day for the glorious Third Reich."

Schultz jumped up. "Of course, Herr Sturmfuehrer."

With a last angry glare, the SS guard turned on his heel and left again.

LeBeau remained sitting and crossed his arms.

"Please, cockroach. If you could just cook something good for this meeting. After the big shot is gone, we can stay here and ..."

Schultz talked and talked while LeBeau had stopped listening. He nodded to himself. He would cook but not for Schultz or for his life.

Slowly a grin began to form. He was supposed to cook for a really important meeting. If Colonel Hogan had known, he would have invented himself somehow. Schultz had accidentally done just this. Now LeBeau had a few hours to come up with a plan how to steal their plans and bring them to London or the Resistance.

Schultz had wanted to help himself but he had gifted LeBeau with a golden opportunity to save Papa Bear. Hochstetter wouldn't get his proof. Not as long as LeBeau could do something about it.

* * *

 _TBC_


	12. Day Eleven

_Special thanks to_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _I can't thank anonymous reviewers personally, so I write it here: Thank you, **Ruth** and **Guest** for your sharing your thoughts and your support. I appreciate it!_

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY ELEVEN**

* * *

Hogan was on attempt number four to talk Klink into going out and searching for Papa Bear himself.

His options were limited, besides trying to reach the Hindenburg Bridge himself, he could only try having a chat with the alleged witness, and arranging an accident or buying a changed story. Of course, returning to London remained an option as long as he was sure that his men could follow.

But Colonel Klink outside of his area of control was even more skittish and crumbled down at the least resistance. It didn't matter if it was an untimely cry of a bird or a simple question from a private, Klink recoiled.

Claiming boredom, Hogan had wormed his way to the library. Inspiration was hard to come by without his men's helpful prompts, outrageous questions and crazy ideas, but it did stroke as he found a book about Sherlock Holmes on the shelves in the back.

With a new plan, Hogan was back and visited Klink in his temporary office, nothing more than a windowless room in the cellar with a desk and two chairs.

"Colonel Klink, why have you been holding back?" He asked without knocking or greeting.

Klink sat sunken behind the desk, his head in his hands. "Hogan, go away. You can't help me anymore, the death of a hero on the Russian Front is now my destiny."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "But you don't need my help. I found the source of your star."

"My star?"

Nodding, Hogan pulled out a chair and sat opposite of him. "You are a descendant of Sherlock Holmes. That's the reason you always find a solution."

Klink stared at him disbelieving. "Colonel Hogan-," he began.

"See," Hogan pointed to the Sidney Paget's illustration of the famous detective. "Just look: the same head and balding hair. He is only missing a monocle."

Klink leaned forward to examine the illustration. "Hmm," he said unconvinced. He put the book down. "Impossible! I don't have English relatives."

"That's the thing, Colonel," Hogan was determined. "I'm pretty sure that it was the other way around: your ancestor was the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes."

Nodding, Klink's lips twitched. He removed his monocle. "There, you could be right. The superior intellect has always been a trait in my family."

Hogan grinned. "I knew it." Now he only needed to spin the story further. "You just wanted to give Hochstetter a chance to prove himself worthy of your intellect before you start to go out and find Papa Bear yourself."

Klink's face grew serious. "Exactly." He swiped the air with his fist. "But this man isn't capable of finding Papa Bear."

"And so, you have to start looking for the saboteur yourself," Hogan prompted. "What do you have in mind? Or is this secret?"

"Hogan!" Klink sunk down, back into his chair. "This won't work. General Burkhalter won't go for it."

"Right," Hogan made a sad face, "of course, the general doesn't want you to make general. If you can nick this Papa Bear, nobody could prevent your promotion anymore." He paused to highlight his next two words. "General Klink."

"General Klink," the man in question repeated. His face and voice beamed in awe.

"I know what you're thinking."

"You do?"

"You think," Hogan leaned down, lowered his voice and used his most conspiratorial tone. "You think, that you will solve this mystery immediately if you can see Hochstetter's collected evidence."

"Why would I need Hochstetter's file?"

"Oh, the master asks the pupil." Hogan tipped with his index finger against his chin, playing the game. "I know, because if you can talk to the witness you'll have the necessary information at once."

Seeing, Klink wasn't sold yet, Hogan continued. "A man of your intellect has solved greater mysteries with far less evidence."

Klink nodded in agreement. "Yes, but in this case -"

Suddenly the door flew open and Hogan's chance was gone again.

Klink jumped up. "General Burkhalter, what a pleasure."

Burkhalter removed his gloves before answered. "There is no pleasure this morning."

Hogan didn't know what happened but whatever had annoyed Burkhalter should be fun for him. He looked over his shoulder before he stood up and faced him. "Did Mrs. Burkhalter find out about your Fraulein?"

The general paled before he straightened again. "Of course not. But twenty prisoners escaped from Stalag XIII. And now I have to explain this to Berlin."

"Impossible!" Klink declared with indignation. "Nobody has ever successfully escaped from my camp."

Hogan grinned and crossed his arms. "But it's not your camp anymore."

Like a balloon, Klink deflated. "Right, not my camp anymore."

Leaning back against a dirty wall, Hogan regarded Burkhalter. "Let me guess, Berlin won't like that your hunt for Papa Bear brought such a high cost."

Burkhalter's face twitched and annoyance radiated off him. "I assure you, Colonel Hogan, every escaped prisoner will be recaptured."

"And then escape again." Hogan enjoyed the game. "Face it, general, without Colonel Klink Stalag XIII isn't escape-proof anymore. What do you think Berlin is going to say to that?"

"My camp," Klink sat down. He was two minutes away from sobbing. "My record. My lifework."

Hogan rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

The general had no such qualms. "Kink! You can always marry my sister if you think-"

"No, Herr General," Klink got out of his way to straighten up. "Everything is fine."

"Except twenty missing prisoners." Hogan couldn't help but rub it in their faces.

Klink sank back down. He gave a perfect picture of misery. Hogan almost felt sorry for him. Whoever was behind this was sure doing a fine job. Maybe one of his men had already returned and organized this.

* * *

LeBeau was busy to stir the pot and Schultz was busy to taste everything.

In the office above the kitchen, a few of the most important strategic planners of the Third Reich had their meeting. With the help of Schultz, LeBeau had found every necessary item for a meal and a few other things.

"Hmm, this is delicious!" Schultz took another spoon.

"I am glad you approve." LeBeau said and if there was a hint of sarcasm, Schultz didn't detect it.

"But I don't understand why we had to move the stove. It's heavy and just because it operates with gas cylinder…" he trailed off, exhausted just from thinking about moving it again.

"Schultzie," LeBeau said, "I need fresh air to cook. It tastes better."

Schultz moved his head from left to right. "I think it is good that Colonel Hogan is not here. This sounds like monkey business."

LeBeau smirked. He needed a good distraction and without any help he needed to use his best friend. The oven.

He may not know how to make an explosion but he knew how to get an impressive darting flame.

"Schultz, I need more potatoes and I'm not allowed out of the kitchen, so …" He left the sentence unfinished.

After a longing look at the full pots, Schultz trotted out of the kitchen.

LeBeau put the dishes in the dumb waiter and pushed the button. Then he took as much oil as possible, put it on the stove and started to heat it up. Finding the point for ignition was difficult.

Glaring to the ceiling, LeBeau waited impatiently for the lift to return. Finally, it came back down.

Schultz returned. Nervously, LeBeau heated the oven even more up.

"Should you do this?"

LeBeau whirled around and faced the German sergeant. "Who is the chef? Do I or you know how to cook?" He crossed his arms and tapped with his foot. "Yes?"

Schultz thought about it. "You."

"Right." He could feel the heat behind him. "Is it your or my head if the food isn't edible?"

This time Schultz knew the answer right away. "Mine!"

Shaking his head, LeBeau sighed. "No, our. The oil needs to reach the perfect temperature to make a _très_ ," LeBeau added a lot of French words to the sentence, safe in the knowledge that Schultz would assume every French word to be good-tasting food.

"Oh!" Schultz sighed while his mouth began to water. "That sounds delicious."

"Of course, what did you think? So, please keep watch for a darting flame while I chop some vegetables."

The sounds of the oil on the oven could only mean one thing — take it away right now or start a fire.

LeBeau glanced to the open window and counted in his head.

It was all about the timing.

Finally, the oil ignited and an impressive flame pushed out of the window, filling the air with smoke and heat.

As predicated, Schultz eyes widened in fear. Then he started to scream on top of his voice: "Fire! Fire!" But he remained rooted in his spot. "Fire!"

Le Beau jumped inside the dumb waiter and pushed the button. If he was wrong and the general didn't run to the window to verify a threat, he was lost.

The way up was short but enough time to feel the tight enclosed space. His heart beat painfully in his chest. On the positive side, the claustrophobia pushed away the fear of opening the door the moment the dumb waiter stopped moving.

Relieved, LeBeau saw them all standing near the window, looking out.

For a short moment, nobody watched the desk. LeBeau held his breath and got out of the dumb waiter.

He grabbed the first papers that looked like a map and a list. Without further knowledge what he needed to grab, he hurried back. Just as he closed the door, the general turned back. LeBeau didn't know if he had seen him or not, but he needed to get down as fast as possible.

He darted out of the dump waiter.

LeBeau had just grabbed a bucket of sand as the first guards arrived. After he had turned off the gas, he killed the flame with sand.

"Fire!" Schultz shouted again in the now sudden silence. The guards stood around with buckets of water.

LeBeau just shook his head. "If you want to kill yourself, go ahead and add water to burning oil. It is the right way to die for some _boche_ like you."

Schultz shook like a leaf. Waiting for the SS guards to leave, LeBeau patted him on the back.

"Whatever," one of the guards said, "just make sure that there is enough food and that it tastes good or this flame will kill somebody."

"Namely you," the second guard sneered.

The closing kitchen door cut off the sound of their laughter.

Schultz sat down. He breathed hard, his face sickly grayish.

"See, it's a good thing I moved the stove. Or the fire would have been catastrophic," LeBeau said. Hoping that the breathless sound of his voice would be written off as from the exercise of extinguishing the fire, LeBeau tried to calm down his own nerves. He had never needed to plan and execute something like this alone.

Sighing, Schultz calmed down. "Now I need a schnapps."

With a smile, LeBeau turned around. "But only because you need to check if it's not poisonous."

While Schultz was busy calming his nerves, LeBeau grabbed the papers from the dump waiter. They looked important. Hopefully, he would have enough time to hide them before they were missed.

Or all would be lost.

Good thing that dinner was already finished, serving as distraction.

* * *

Carter coughed in his hand. The hidden passage was dirty, dark and wet. The mold hung heavy in the air.

"How long, do you think, is this tunnel?" His voice echoed in the dark sending shivers down his back.

In front of him, the dim light of a candle, stolen by Collins, was their only source of light. Running around in the dark of the night was nothing compared to walking through complete and utter darkness.

On the third attempt, Collins and Cycle had found the right window to the room below their prison. Breaking in was easier than finding the hidden entrance. But Cycle hadn't been showing off - he knew his stuff.

"Unknown," Cycle answered. "We should have scouted the tunnel before we all went."

"The broken window was going to attract unnecessary attention," Major Cliff argued. "It was either now or possible never."

Carter had lost his sense of time. The hidden passage seemed endless. Their steps sounded hollowed and in the dark everything was louder.

"Finally," the joy wasn't lost in the whispered word.

Carter opened his mouth to ask about it as the wind blew out their candle.

They had to stop until Collins had lit it again. "What's with the happiness?" Collins grouched.

"Wind," Cycle answered. "It means we're near the entrance."

And sure enough, after a last sharp turn, they stood in the forest. Carter turned around but he could only see a big stone behind him. Leaves, branches and a perfectly placed stone hid the entrance.

"Boy, if we had one of those."

"We need to move," Major Cliff ordered and pulled Carter with him.

After a few minutes, they stopped. "Okay, we need to scatter. We build three groups: one tries to get to Spain, one goes to Switzerland and the last goes to Sweden." Major Cliff decided. "You have to go separate ways as fast as possible."

Time was of essence, they needed to get away far and fast. The moment their missing was detected, the hunt would be on.

"If you get there you need to find the American or an allied embassy. Don't trust the locals there. They may be neutral but you never know."

Everybody nodded. Only Carter hesitated. Without knowing the status of Stalag XIII and Papa Bear, he should probably return to London. But on the other hand he still had a bridge to blow up. He would try to fulfill his mission. However, the surrounding men had better chances to reach the coast on their own than following him back to Stalag XIII.

"Chester, Cycle ..." Cliff pointed to the men, "you try to reach Switzerland. Good luck and go!"

Silently, they disappeared in the darkness. Carter was impressed that they didn't even hesitate trying to determine which direction they should go.

"Carter," Collins whispered and pulled at his sleeve. "We need to go."

At his blank look, Collins added. "Sweden."

"No," Carter argued, "I need to return to Stalag XIII."

Major Cliff sighed. "Sergeant, we don't have time for this. Every second we stay here, we risk detection or being found by a patrol. I order you to follow Sergeant Collins."

Carter pressed his lips together. "I can't follow this order, sir. I have my orders from London and the Supreme Headquarters has ordered me to stay in Stalag XIII. Besides, I need to set some detonators I left behind. As long as the Hindenburg Bridge is standing, London is going to send more and more bombers. We can't smuggle them all back to London."

Despite his doubts, Carter couldn't really image that Hochstetter would win against Colonel Hogan. Operation Papa Bear would continue.

Narrowing his eyes, Cliff pressed his lips together until he reached a decision. "Fine, I'm not going to argue with the Supreme Headquarters. Go wherever you need to go."

Carter nodded. "Thank you and good luck." He stood up and marched in the forest ignoring the worried look.

After a few minutes, Carter stopped. He didn't know exactly in what direction he had to go.

Pausing, he tried to decide which way he should choose. But the trees all looked the same. If he could reach a street, he could ask. In the back of his mind he could hear Newkirk's angry refusal and words.

"Right," Carter said to himself, "crazy idea, asking a German for the way."

It was useless. With a sigh, he turned and walked back in the direction where he hoped to find one of the other men. Maybe they could tell him the right direction.

He found only Major Cliff and Sergeant Collins, neither of them seemed surprised to see him.

"Ahem, in what direction do I have to go?"

Collins smirked. "I should've taken that bet," he mumbled. Addressing Carter, he whispered: "What's the nearest town?"

"Hammelburg."

A look of concentration settled on his boyish face as Collins move his finger over an invisible map. Then he turned to Major Cliff. "I know where Hammelburg is and I have a good idea what bridge he wants to blow up. I can play Lassie."

"Sergeant-"

"We are going to have better chances trying to walk further into Germany than trying to reach the coast line. Maybe it is really this important for the war effort."

Carter bit his lips, cursing his own inability to walk a straight line. If he could just find the camp himself, he thought frustrated.

Nodding, Major Cliff agreed. "Good luck. And Sergeant Carter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell your Colonel Hogan he owes me a beer."

"You got it boy," Carter grinned. At the serious face of the major, he shook his head, driving the smile away. "I mean, sir. You got it, sir."

* * *

 _TBC_


	13. Day Twelve

_Special thanks to_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you for reading. Thank you for your reviews and follows!_

* * *

 **DAY TWELVE**

* * *

Hogan stood in the courtyard, staring across the street and watching the SS as General Burkhalter's staff car arrived.

He looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the general was leaving the villa in a hurry. A few steps behind Burkhalter, his adjutant Major Haus followed with an equal serious face and fast pace. As he saw Hogan, he gave him a small and almost invisible smirk.

"How goes the hunt for your mysterious Papa Bear?" Hogan had to bit his lip to keep himself from smiling at Burkhalter's scowl. "Not in the mood for jokes, Herr General?"

Burkhalter just growled at Hogan and stopped beside his car waiting for his driver to open the door.

The non-answer was answer enough. So, Hogan decided to use the good old flattery to improve his host's mood.

With his best innocent face, he turned to the silent man. "General, you and me, we both know that Hochstetter just tries to hide his incompetence by pretending that this is a Luftwaffe problem. For a little man like Hochstetter, this is a pretty good plan: for a few days an important General like you is searching for a small spy like Papa Bear."

Major Haus hurried over, opened the door for General Burkhalter and told Hogan with a glare: "Except that your small spy Papa Bear just stole important plans from General Lauterbach."

Outwards the major appeared angry, but Hogan knew that he had been right; the smile had been good news for the Underground and Papa Bear, but as Burkhalter's adjutant he had to carry on with a sour mood.

Smirking, Colonel Hogan clapped his hands together. "Has Major Hochstetter already been informed? I'm sure he is going to be thrilled that I could not have done this. How did Berlin take it?"

The scowl on Burkhalter's face deepened and he climbed into his car without a word.

Watching, Hogan knew that soon he would have Burkhalter. He only needed another act and the general would do whatever he proposed to save his career.

* * *

LeBeau didn't dare to take a breath as the gun remained under his chin.

"Please, Herr General. Here is nothing. I have kept watch the whole time."

"And where else do you think, Sergeant Schultz, the papers went? They surely didn't grow legs and walked away!" General Lauterbach was one of the few Nazis who didn't need to raise his voice to make men quiver in their boots.

Not that it was difficult to scare Schultz, but LeBeau could also feel the threat in the air and under his chin.

He refused to look to the bread in the oven. Instead, he forced his eyes to remain on the gun in his face.

The SS-guards searched meticulously the kitchen. All cupboards were opened. The dishes were removed or smashed. Tables and chairs were thrown down. They didn't leave anything unturned. Schultz had lost his ability to form words and only continued to stutter syllables.

Suddenly the nearby air raid sirens started and cast a spell of fear over the men in the kitchen.

"You stay here and continue to search!" General Lauterbach ordered. "We're coming back after they have left." Then he turned and hurried away. His black flock followed willingly.

LeBeau watched them running for the bomb shelter in the cellar.

"But, but-" Schultz stuttered. "You can't-" He took a tiny step to the only safe place in the whole house; the safety that was refused to him.

LeBeau grabbed the still hot bread and went to door.

"Let it be, Schultz," LeBeau said. "You're never going to change a Nazi."

He waited at the door for Schultz. The big man stood rooted in place, staring aghast after his own people abandoning him.

"Come on, we need to leave the building. Let's get out of here."

No reaction. LeBeau was tempted to go without him. At the last possible moment, he turned and grabbed Schultz' sleeve pulling him towards the exit.

Outside the sirens sounded even louder. Together, they hurried through the big garden towards the gate to the forest that began behind the house. In the background, they could already hear the drowning sound of the nearing bombers.

"They're coming," Schultz froze in panic. With shaking fingers he pointed at the blue sky.

LeBeau followed his gaze. With no clouds in the sky, it was perfect weather for a short picnic at the Seine or — as the adrenaline coursing through his veins reminded him - to run for his life.

He was under no illusions, the pilots wouldn't be able to recognize his uniform. But Schultz was easily recognizable.

"The forest, we need to reach the forest," LeBeau shouted and sprinted to the gate.

The old lady had given him a key to his freedom and maybe even the key to save his life.

He needed several tries until the lock finally clicked and the gate opened.

Schultz whimpered besides him. "I don't want to-"

Forgoing words, LeBeau grabbed Schultz' over-sized belt and pulled him out of the garden.

The sound of the bombers drowned out everything else. LeBeau couldn't hear the blood rushing through his ears or the sound of his boots on the gravel.

Like a knife, the unmistakable sound of falling bombs cut through the fog.

With a last spurt of energy, LeBeau and Schultz hurled across the small path and fell to the ground.

A loud bang, followed by another, echoed through the earth beneath him. LeBeau pressed his arms against his head, trying to shield his head and his ears.

The next earth-shattering explosion was even nearer.

He held his breath.

Bomb, after bomb, after bomb sailed down; unmercifully searching for their target.

LeBeau lost his sense of time.

The air filled with smoke. LeBeau knew that he needed to check how near the fire was. But for moment he didn't want to see the destruction.

He took the moment.

Then his time was up and he sat up. The surrounding forest shimmered in the sunlight. Only the siren perturbed the peaceful atmosphere. Turning around, he found the house he had left just moments ago, completely destroyed. Only two of the four walls were still standing. The remnants of the house were just gone.

Beside him Schultz sat up. Together they stared at the devastation. LeBeau knew that the underground had worked well. The bombers knew exactly where to hit. Maybe the old lady, maybe somebody else.

"We need to help," Schultz scrambled up. "Maybe-"

Slowly, LeBeau rose. He hadn't changed or washed his clothes for the last few days. Dirt and sweat clung to his skin, now mixed with smoke. He couldn't smell burning flesh, but what the reality lacked his memory added helpfully.

He shook his head. "No, we need to get away. We send help from the nearby village."

"What?"

"Do you have a better plan? We tell the village about the hit and -" he didn't need to finish the sentence when the first firefighters arrived.

LeBeau took a second look. In the last fire he had helped to extinguish, before the war, the firefighters were strong men in their prime. But times had changed. Now it was old men and boys in uniforms too big for them, but running around eager to show off.

"What has the world become?" Schultz mumbled, watching the same scene.

"Do you want to come with me?" LeBeau asked. But he didn't wait for an answer and started to stumble into the forest. He walked in the general direction of Stalag XIII. He would find it. Somehow he would find his way, either to Stalag XIII or Paris.

After a moment, he heard Schultz following. "Why did you take the bread?"

"It has special ingredient. You won't guess," LeBeau answered, playing a game to forget.

"Oh I know. Is it cinnamon? It's too early for Christmas but -"

"No, it's not cinnamon."

Schultz breathed hard from the short walk. "Did you add sultanas? If you let me taste-"

"No sultanas, but I can't let you taste the bread. The ingredient wouldn't be easy on your stomach."

"I'm hungry. I could eat anything." Schultz paused. "Also you special ingredient. I think."

LeBeau smirked as he turned his head. "Do you really want to know?"

Schultz came to a halt. A frown settled on his face while he thought it over. Then he shook his head vehemently. "No, do not tell me, please."

Snorting, LeBeau turned away and took the next step into the thicket. Step by step, he would get back.

* * *

Carter halted and looked around. "I know this town." He pointed to a small village beneath them.

Collins nodded. "We should be near. If I'm right then those are the houses for the train workers."

"Good, good."

Together they trudged on through the forest. Hunger and thirst made it hard to concentrate. Carter stumbled a lot but Collins never let him fall down.

After several more minutes, Carter stopped. "We need a break. I need a break."

He looked around, choose a tree that looked like a good resting spot and leaned against it. Then he lowered himself down until he sat on the damp ground. His friend leaned against the old tree.

"Do we still have some food?"

"No," Collins denied. "Only some water. Want some?"

Carter grabbed the offered canteen. "What day is it?"

"The last newspaper I've seen was from the 13th of July. So it's now the 14th of July."

Grinning, Carter handed the water back. It was safer with Sergeant Collins. "I guess this fits."

"Fits?"

"Sure. We wanted to have a nice fireworks for the Forth of July. Now we can celebrate Bastille Day - the most important holiday in France. I guess they also like a nice fireworks."

"I don't know. You sure that this is the right day?"

Carter shook his head. "Of course, I know what day the _f_ _ête nationale française_ is. Be happy that LeBeau didn't hear you or you would get an earful."

Collins rolled his eyes and changed the topic. "How near do you think we are?"

"I think we're right here." Carter smirked. "Colonel Hogan always says that some things always stay the same."

"And?"

With a big grin, Carter grabbed something beneath him and held it up. It was the detonator. "I've picked the same rest spot again."

The sergeant snorted. "Now, I really like to meet your Colonel Hogan." He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll scout ahead." Collins pushed away from the tree and disappeared into the dark woods.

He wasn't even gone a minute before he returned. "The bridge is right in front of us." He held out his hand and helped Carter up.

For a moment, Carter hesitated. "Can we change the signal for the train, so it isn't on the bridge when it blows?"

Collins considered it. "This is about what you saw on your way to the Burgschloss?"

Carter nodded. "I told you that these trains carry not only weapons and munition, there are also a lot of normal soldiers on it. Not all of them are Nazis," he explained and thought about Langenscheidt.

With a shrug, Collins swallowed his protest. "I don't care, but if it's important for you, I can set the right signal."

"Thank you." Carter took a relieved breath, feeling lighter than in a long time. Finally, he could do both: destroy a bridge and protect life.

They left the shadows of the trees and followed the rails. Collins set the right signal and together they climbed down the hill. It was difficult in the dark to be as quiet as possible. But after the last few days, their uniforms couldn't get dirtier.

"I can't wait to get back. Hopefully LeBeau has still some food for us."

"Food," Collins drew out the words as if the thought alone could fill his stomach.

Finally, they reached the river bed. "But first we blow up the bridge." Carter started to prepare the detonator.

"Which direction do we need to go to return to your Stalag?"

Carter looked up. "We need to cross the river before it blows." Holding up the detonator, he showed the sergeant a timer. "But this should be enough time."

Hunger made his finger shaky but he knew how to set the bombs in his sleep. He activated the timer and they ran.

With wet boots and new bruises on his legs and back, Carter reached the safety and threw himself down. Collins, the young football player and high school athlete, was already waiting for him.

Seconds later, the Hindenburg Bridge blew up in thousands pieces in a loud bang.

Carter turned around to enjoy the fireball. Fascinated, he watched how the structure build in several years of hard works came down in a short moment.

It was a beautiful explosion, only sweetened as he saw the train having stopped at the other side and now actively turning back.

Carter stood up, and tried to remove some leaves and dirt from his uniform.

"And there was no bridge anymore," Collins remarked before he also stood up. He clapped Carter on the back. "Great."

"Yes," Carter agreed, but something was missing. He looked around until he realized what he missed. He missed Newkirk's running commentary, Hogan's hidden smile, LeBeau's patriotism and Kinch's backup in the woods.

It was simple, Carter missed his friends to share his success. It was high time to get back to camp.

* * *

 _TBC_


	14. Day Thirteen

_Special thanks to_ _ **Sapphire363**_ _for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, guests, for your reviews! Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **DAY THIRTEEN**

* * *

Hogan leaned back in his chair. It wasn't even midday and his mood improved with every soldier scattering away from Burkhalter's office.

It was a balm for his worried mind.

"Bah!"

Hochstetter's exclamation penetrated the thick door. Besides him, Colonel Klink twitched with every loud word.

The voices swelled in intensity as Major Haus opened the door and looked out. "Colonel Hogan, Colonel Klink," he said. "The general is waiting."

With a bright smile, Hogan jumped up and strolled to the open door. He had to give it to Major Haus. If he hadn't known that he was an underground agent, he wouldn't have suspected him.

Inside the office, Burkhalter sat behind his desk. In front of him, Major Hochstetter prowled, pacing from left to right.

"I will surround the whole city with a band of steel and -"

"Major Hochstetter, how's the hunt?" Hogan asked while he put his hands into his pockets.

With small lips, Hochstetter shot him an angry glare. "What is this man doing here!"

"Major Hochstetter, General Burkhalter," Colonel Klink slipped into the room. Major Haus closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.

Burkhalter leaned back. "You have no proof that Colonel Hogan is Papa Bear. Beside the espionage and stolen papers, the radio signals and intercepted message, we also now have an ambush of the underground for a prisoner transport."

"If you will just let me talk to Colonel Hogan for one minute, I will have the names of these disloyal Germans!" Hochstetter promised, seething with anger.

"Ambush?" Hogan couldn't remember having heard anything like this.

"A transfer of prisoner from Stalag XII was ambushed by the underground. Every prisoner escaped."

Hogan smirked. "I guess this doesn't look good in Berlin either."

Major Hochstetter stepped into Hogan's personal space. "I will have your head for -"

"Major, you haven't found a single proof that Colonel Hogan is Papa Bear. Even worse, now I have to deal with thirty-five escaped prisoners and stolen papers."

"I have one day left."

Klink snorted, getting brave in the presence of General Burkhalter. "This doesn't matter." He turned to the general. "Like I told you, Herr General, my camp is kept perfectly. There never has been -"

"Shut up, Klink," Burkhalter ordered without heat. He was more annoyed than angry.

Hochstetter opened his mouth but a knock at the door interrupted him.

At Burkhalter's order a young private entered, saluted and brought the general a message. Hogan raised an eyebrow as the young man hurried away. Looking over to Burkhalter he knew why the man had fled.

"What!" Burkhalter started to breath in heavy gasps, his face turning red.

"What is it, Herr General?" Hochstetter inquired with a false smile.

Klink took a step forward but then stopped.

"The Hindenburg Bridge," Burkhalter whispered.

Hogan balled a fist in joy. For a moment, he allowed a triumphal smile on his face before he changed his expression back to confusion.

"The Hindenburg Bridge?" He asked despite having a good inkling what had befallen to this bridge.

"Destroyed."

"What?" Hochstetter hurried around the desk and grabbed the paper, reading it himself.

Burkhalter started to recover.

"This is the proof; Papa Bear isn't in Stalag XIII." He rose. "And he never had been!"

Hochstetter glanced up from the paper. "Now, Herr General, this proves nothing but -"

"Colonel Klink," Burkhalter started, ignoring the SS-man besides him. "Take your prisoner and return to Stalag XIII. I am done with this idiotic plan that doesn't prove anything but makes me look bad in Berlin."

Klink clicked his heels together, an arrogant smile on his face, "Jawohl, Herr General!"

"You can't do this!" Hochstetter finally had found his voice. "He is-"

"Major Hochstetter, don't you have to find a saboteur? Maybe you should have a look at your witness again."

Hochstetter narrowed his eyes. His breathing quickened. But against General Burkhalter he never stood a chance.

"Bah!" He shouted, turned on his heel and marched off.

Hogan released a breath. He needed to grab his chance now. "General Burkhalter, just restoring Colonel Klink's command won't make you look better in Berlin."

"Colonel Hogan, silence," Klink ordered, having found his strength again. "I will not have this-"

Burkhalter leaned back, playing with his pen. "Klink, let Hogan talk." Saving his face in Berlin was Burkhalter's new priority.

"Of course, General Burkhalter. Please continue Hogan." Klink changed his words while he kept smiling.

"Everybody in Berlin can still see how much you changed Stalag XIII. They just need to compare a list of the prisoners from before and after. But if you order all prisoners and guards back, nobody will find any difference. It will be as if this never has happened."

Burkhalter tipped with his fingers on the desk. He appeared to be thinking. Then he nodded. "I'll leave the orders to Colonel Klink."

Hogan beamed. He had been gambling and now he had hit the jackpot.

* * *

They drove the same route like thirteen days ago, but this time Hogan's heart was light. Nothing remained from his worry.

Besides securing orders to return for all of his men, he also had gotten Hochstetter of their back for the time being.

"Hogan, I can't believe that we both return to Stalag XIII."

Smirking, Hogan actually enjoyed the useless banter with Klink again. "Home away from home. We wouldn't know what to do without you." Klink smiled as he heard the words that only sounded like a compliment but weren't.

"Home away-"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Hogan saw something along to the road.

"Stop the car!" He ordered and the driver actually stopped without hesitation.

"Hogan, what-"

But Hogan jumped out of the staff car. A few feet away, LeBeau and Sergeant Schulz trotted along the way.

"LeBeau!"

The tired men stopped and looked up.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz's face lit up in joy as he recognized him. "We have found you."

His face fell as he saw the officer behind him. "Colonel Klink." He saluted.

Before Klink could interfere, Hogan asked the most important question. "Are you okay? Did you already receive your orders to return to Stalag XIII?"

While Schultz had to sort through the information in the question, Hogan regarded LeBeau. He looked as if he hadn't slept or rested the last few days.

The corporal gave him a one-sided shrug. "I don't think so. I cooked for General Lauterbach." LeBeau vocalized the name with an extra level of intensity.

Hogan caught it. Thinking fast, he recognized it. The plans had been stolen from a General Lauterbach. "Do you have them?" He asked, ignoring the nervous man behind him.

LeBeau patted his chest. "This bread has a special ingredient. You'll like it."

Hogan's face broadened into a grin.

"Well?" Klink asked, annoyance coloring his voice as he couldn't follow the strange conversation between Hogan and LeBeau. So he addressed his man. "What is it Schultz?"

"We are on our way back," LeBeau reported as Schultz remained silent.

"See," Hogan turned to Klink, "even Sergeant Schultz returns to our home away from home after he had recaptured one of my men."

"Home?" Schultz finally found a word and repeated it.

"Right. Sergeant Schultz caught me after I had tried to escape. But there is no way away from Schultz. Then we got caught up in a bomb raid," LeBeau continued. "Afterwards we didn't know where else to go. So we decided to return to Stalag XIII, where we belong."

Schultz touched his forehead, his hand traveling up until he could feel his steel helmet. "We were on the way back to Stalag XIII?" he asked. Under his breath, he added. "I thought we would go to Paris."

"Sergeant Schultz, you need to return to your post. You can't just go back to Stalag XIII after you were transferred and before you received new orders," Klink ordered.

Hogan hurried over to the big man. "Colonel Klink, you can't do this. We need to take Schultz and LeBeau with us. You have already the order to reinstall Sergeant Schultz as the sergeant of the guards. Can't you see that they need to rest?"

Klink took a step back. "They don't look-"

"Didn't you hear them? They were in a bomb raid. Sergeant Schultz probably has a concussion."

"I will be back as the sergeant of the guards? I have a concussion?" Schultz repeated, his confusion growing with every new plan Hogan worked out.

"Do you see this? Confusion is the first sign of a concussion. We need to take Schultz back with us, right now."

"Hogan!" Klink blustered but he stepped away as Hogan pulled Schultz and LeBeau to the car.

As Hogan opened the door for LeBeau he caught his smile. Sharing it, he silently agreed.

It was almost back to how it used to be.

* * *

Carter grinned as he finally saw the familiar guard towers from the camp.

„Really?" Collins grabbed his left sleeve and stopped him. „We are going to a Stalag?"

„Sure," Carter freed his arm. „I told you I need to return to Stalag XIII."

Sergeant Collins snorted. „I thought this was an alias for your base. I never actually thought that -" he broke off, unable to find words for his thoughts.

„But it is our command center. This is the base of our operation."

Collins stared at the scene in front of him. "I can't believe this."

The spotlight of the tower had its light circle on the commandant of the camp. „There's Klink," Carter noticed. Sergeant Schultz reported his count and the commandant dismissed the prisoners. As they turned, Carter recognized his friends: Colonel Hogan with his brown jacket and Newkirk in his blue RAF uniform. Kinch stood out like a protector behind them while LeBeau gestured wildly. His explanation was met with loud laughter from Newkirk and Hogan's proud smile.

„They're all there." He closed his eyes, lowering his head. No food and the long march combined with his relief claimed their price. „They're all there."

„I guess you weren't sure?" Collins asked and squatted down beside him.

„Major Hochstetter and General Burkhalter tried to find proof against Papa Bear. I needed so long to return, I feared I would be too late."

Collins clapped him on the back. „And how do we get in? I'd rather not disturb any of the guards."

„Oh, if we could find Schultz, it would be easy. Sometimes you actually have to threaten him to see you. He likes to see nothing and then-"

Collins cleared his throat.

„Right. How to get in..." For a moment, Carter's mind was blank. The leaves from last autumn lay wet on the ground. "We should first check the emergency tunnel. If the colonel is back he may have a plan and we shouldn't ruin it."

With that hopeful thought, Carter climbed to his feet and followed the finally familiar area to the tree trunk.

"A tree trunk?"

Shrugging, Carter opened the entrance and had to close it right away again as the light from the guard tower swept the area.

"We don't have a nice tunnel entrance like the Burgschloss," he offered as an explanation.

Collins rolled his eyes but followed Carter without any other further comment down the ladder.

The lights were on. "Anybody home?" Carter called out.

"Carter?" Kinch's surprised voice echoed along the walls.

Colonel Hogan was faster and reached the ladder before Kinch. "Carter -" he greeted in joy before he recognized that he wasn't alone.

His hand vanished inside of his jacket.

"Boy, am I glad to be home and that you're all here," Carter said. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Collins raise his hands.

"Oh, that's Sergeant Collins," Carter introduced his friend. "He guided me back to the Hindenburg Bridge."

Hogan relaxed slightly. "So it was you. You and your bombs impressed rather well General Burkhalter."

Carter beamed. "It was a beautiful explosion." He imitated the noise of the explosion.

Grinning, Hogan clapped him on the back. "I'm glad you're back."

"So, we can stay? We are back in business?" Carter asked.

Hurried footsteps announced the arrival of the last two members just in time to hear Carter's question.

"What else do you think, now that even you have found your way back?" Newkirk grouched but the smile on his face belied his words.

He stepped up to Carter and slapped his head.

"What?" Carter asked with indignation, rubbing his head.

"That's because you worried us," Newkirk explained before clapping Carter friendly on the shoulder.

"Shut up." LeBeau pushed Newkirk away. " _Mon ami_ , we're glad you're back."

Carter beamed as he looked around in the smiling faces of his friends.

"So, do you have any food left?" Collins asked from behind him, destroying the moment. "Sergeant Carter has promised me food."

Kinch laughed while Carter blushed.

"We have enough food left," Hogan announced. "We'll need it, there's still so much work to do."

* * *

 _TBC_


	15. Epilogue - Day Fourteen

_Special thanks to_ ** _Sapphire363_** _for beta reading! Thank you very much,_ _especially for the last minute check_ _! All remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Thank you, guest_ _and_ _Ingoma_ _, for your review_ _s_ _. Thank you for reading._

* * *

 **EPILOGUE – DAY FOURTEEN**

* * *

Hogan jumped down the last step of the ladder. Slowly, he breathed out.

"Home, sweet home?" Kinch leaned against a supporting beam and grinned.

"You have no idea." He took another deep breath. "I don't even mind the smell, or London's impossible deadlines. What is it this time? Oh right, they only gave us twenty-four hours to send Lauterbach's plans."

"Hey, it's almost a full day. That's an improvement." Kinch pushed away from the wall and pointed to the radio room. "But they're pushing for an update."

With a shake of his head, Hogan returned his focus back to the tasks ahead. "Where are we in getting everybody back and what about the Underground?"

Kinch looked down on his board and checked his list. "We still have men down here who have officially escaped from Stalag XII. The Underground can't take the papers, they're busy using the discredited status of Major Hochstetter to reduce their backlog. In the last few days they couldn't do much with Hochstetter's operation."

Hogan nodded. He had seen the unhealthy amount of SS men in Hammelburg.

"Do we have a man to send to London without risking Klink's no-escape record?"

"We have still down here: Olsen, Private Keller and Carter's Sergeant Collins."

Hogan crossed his arms. "We can't send Olsen. We need him here. So that's only leaving Keller and Collins."

"But Collins doesn't know the route or the contacts," Kinch pointed out.

"Fine. Then we are going to send Keller and Collins back to London with the plans and Olsen upstairs and outside the wire to serve as a distraction."

Kinch laughed out loud. "Olsen's going to like this."

Hogan shared a grin. "Klink is in a good mood. And one day, Olsen has to reappear back in the lists of Stalag XIII. Today is as good as any."

With a shake of his head, Kinch strolled back to his radio. "I'm going to inform the Underground and London."

* * *

Hogan walked back from the Kommandantur with a light spring in his step. Schultz and Olsen were already ahead of him and waiting.

Restoring a POW camp was unexpectedly hard work. He needed to remind Colonel Klink to write a lot of orders.

But the timing was perfect. Klink was in good mood and the guards relaxed. Hogan easily could talk Klink into feeling good about himself whenever one of his men gave himself up. He felt flattered and forewent any punishment.

"Thanks." Sergeant Olsen said before he had to follow Schultz to his barracks. "I appreciated being spared the time in the cooler."

Hogan gave him a short nod and Olsen disappeared.

Schultz lingered back. "I don't understand why anybody would return after he has already escaped."

"Now, this is actually a funny story. Do you-"

"No," Schultz held up his hand, "I do not want to know. I know nothing. Nothing!"

With that, he took his gun and marched away.

Hogan watched him until he turned a corner. "Your loss. But it would have been a good story."

He had his men back, he had his command back and Hochstetter had to leave without him or any proof. His gamble had paid off.

Smiling, he went to his barracks. His good mood vaporized the moment he opened the door to barracks 2. A heated argument between his men greeted him.

"Guys," he called out but LeBeau, Kinch, Carter and Newkirk continued to argue. "Guys," he repeated louder.

But nobody listened to him until he clapped his hands together. "Quiet! I don't think Berlin has heard you yet."

He waited until his men had quietened down. "Anybody wants to explain what this is about?"

LeBeau looked away as Newkirk opened his cards and gave them entirely too much attention. Kinch sighed and stood up to get a new cup. Only Carter frowned.

"Carter?" Hogan prompted.

"We were just arguing."

The colonel snorted. "Of course. I could hear you. What was so important to argue about? Did we miss somebody in the return orders?"

"No," Kinch said. "We were arguing who had done the most to ensure that Papa Bear could continue to operate."

Hogan raised his eyebrows while gazing across his men. This was unexpected. Also, it was unnecessary and unwanted. "Why does this matter? Without any of your contribution it could have gone the other way."

"LeBeau started it," Carter explained. "I thought it was stupid."

"Stupid?" Newkirk folded his cards and looked above his shoulder to Carter. "You wanted to call the story 'Carter's heroic travels'."

The man in question tensed and crossed his arms. "It was a heroic travel all through Germany without getting detected and then blowing up a bridge. It was hard work."

"Haha," LeBeau snorted. "Try stealing important plans right under the nose of the Nazis and then we can talk about heroic. If we get a postwar memorial it needs to be called 'Brave cooking in the face of the enemy'."

"Brave cooking?" Newkirk turned his head to shot LeBeau an angry glare. "Only people having to eat your food need to be brave! I had to think on my feet and come up with a plan without any information!"

"Newkirk," Kinch said, "if we could we would have informed you. It wasn't intentional."

"Except Schultz, he forgot you!" LeBeau couldn't help himself and added salt to the wound feeling justified after Newkirk's comment about his cooking skills.

"Fellows," Hogan called out before the argument escalated again. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." He signaled 'calm-down' with his hands until everybody had quietened down again.

"Okay," he drew the word out. "Let's recap. You argued about the title of the story that would maybe be written about you after the war? You do remember that what we do is highly classified and top secret? I don't think we will be around to witness the unsealing of these files."

Newkirk shrugged. "If somebody claimed that it's only fiction, it could work."

Hogan sighed. "Fine, I guess this could happen. And how would you call this story?"

"Sticky fingers and quick wit saved Papa Bear," Newkirk answered.

"Shouldn't your story be called: 'Baker and Newkirk's escape committee'? You can't forget Sergeant Baker. He did a really good job." Kinch addressed Hogan, "and with your permission, I'd like to train him as my backup."

"Sure we can always use good men." Hogan sighed, took a cup and filled it with water. "But how would you call your part in this tale?"

The radio operator shrugged with one shoulder. "I would call it 'How to overcome your prejudices and win a war'. But this isn't so important."

"Without you, Hochstetter wouldn't have to explain the Underground and their ambush. Not forgetting you restarted the messaging to the Underground and all of our contacts. Don't sell yourself too short." Hogan hold Kinch's calculating glare. He didn't need a ten pages report to understand what Kinch had been up against.

Kinch gave him a short nod.

Hogan put down his cup and straightened. "So, now you want to know what title the story should have?"

" _Qui_."

"You got it boy, ahem, sir."

"Yes."

Only Newkirk kept quiet.

Hogan smirked. "What's the matter, Newkirk, don't think your proposal will win?"

Newkirk shock his head. "Somehow I don't think I am going to like your answer. It's my sixth sense tingling."

Hogan grinned. "Good sense. You should use it more often."

"So, the winner?" LeBeau shoved a refilled cup in Hogan's hand.

"If, and that's a big if, but if there's ever a story about our fine stalag, it's going to be called 'Hogan's Heroes'."

"What?" LeBeau's word was filled with indignation.

"But you didn't do anything!" Carter agreed with the injustice.

Kinch just crossed his arms.

"I knew it!" Newkirk grouched. "I don't like this answer."

Hogan looked around. "Where's your sense for competition? Shouldn't the best win?"

"Beggin' your pardon, but what did you exactly do?" Newkirk challenged the colonel.

"Easy, I chose you to be Papa Bear's cubs. Without my wise decision I wouldn't be here."

His men groaned.

"Wait," Newkirk raised his hand, "does this mean, we do the job and you get the credit?"

Hogan laughed. "What do you think, Corporal? I'm an officer. My job is to choose the right man for the right job," Hogan answered. "And I chose well, wouldn't you agree?"

He grinned while his men were reunited in their indignation about officers.

Colonel Hogan smiled. Finally, everything was back the way it should be.

 **The End**

* * *

 _A/N Thank you for reading, for your favs and follows, and if you left a review: thank you very much for telling me your thoughts._


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